


Now Sing!

by Lokaian



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: All abord the drama train! tchoo tchoo!, Connor has no idea what's happening, Creepy, Depressing Thoughts, Discord: RK1K Server, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hank knows best, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Markus is there to convert Connor to his debauched life, Mild non-con, Non-con touching, Opera AU, Physical Abuse, Queen Bitch Amanda, RK1000 - Freeform, Slow Burn, Smut, Whump, connor is a sweet boi, hardcore pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 58,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokaian/pseuds/Lokaian
Summary: Connor is a young opera singer whose career is strictly dictated by his evil manager, Amanda, so that he can become the best countertenor singer ever. She’d do anything for him to reach the top. Anything.After settling in Detroit, Connor meets Hank, a drum teacher in his new school. Hank might look rough but, in truth, he’s a big teddy bear inside, and it breaks his heart to see Connor waste away his youth like this.To remedy that, he introduces our sweet Connor to an old student of his: Markus.Will Markus sucessfully deviate Connor from the boring path Amanda has set for him? Will Amanda allow Connor to be distracted without fighting back?Spoiler: Amanda is one hell of a vicious bitch.NOTA: This is NOT a song fic.
Relationships: Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 32
Kudos: 140





	1. You are a singer Harry

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Maintenant Chante](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24090124) by [Lokaian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokaian/pseuds/Lokaian). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! if you were looking for some whump & comfort, you've come to the right place!  
> This story was inspired by the video of a french opera singer who looked just like Connor when he was younger (see the link in the 2nd paragraph). The idea grew fast and my perverted mind is still having way too much fun with this AU so translation time!  
> Beware, tags might evolve at some point, and not in a good way.  
> My english is a bit rusty so please, don't hesitate to tell me if you spot any mistakes.  
> Big Thanks to Rigel126 for the quick beta proofing of this chapter <3 <3

Articulating his first words with great care, Connor neatly clicked his tongue on each sharp letter before lovingly closing his lips around the consonants that followed. He whispered the next words reverently, connecting the two with a slight inflection before breathing out a long and lyrical note, harmoniously placed between two syllables. He loved and feared this endless note extended beyond normal breathing. It was a beautiful opportunity to shine and he steadily held this whole note, the slow tempo highlighted by the dance of the bows on the strings behind him.

As he revealed the end of the word, breathless, Connor had to [squeeze his eyes](https://youtu.be/Pms4a0Gih4U?t=93) shut under the growing pain that hit him as his lungs squeezed out the last atoms of air. The audience would believe in a mark of passion for the Latin lyrics but Amanda wouldn’t fail to reproach him for this weakness at the end of the concert.

Ignoring the unpleasant prospect of his late evening, Connor allowed the violins to soothe his nerves, and bring his brain to focus once again on the rest his interpretation. He repeated the verse, and this time, he methodically brought his breathing under control. The shorter sentences would give more strength to his countertenor voice and would reduce the risk of disappointing Amanda with a breathless ending. She would criticize him for not having been ambitious enough, but it was better than having to make amends because he couldn’t hold a note long enough - or worse, if he got it completely out of tune.

His piece over and done, Connor saluted the crowd who applauded warmly. He bowed once, twice, then slipped away behind the curtains, while another singer was climbing on stage. Amanda was already waiting for him in the shadows of the backstage and the stiffness of her posture immediately informed Connor that she was going to give him a hard time. A small treacherous voice pointed out to him that he kind of deserved it a little anyway.

He knew this song; Amanda had been training him tirelessly for months. Tonight should have been easy - especially just a few days before his audition for the prestigious Detroit Conservatory.

“I will not insult your intelligence by asking how you’d rate tonight’s performance,” she began. “You know very well that it was well below the level you’ll need to achieve next week for the competition.”

He looked down, submissive, before agreeing. “Yes it’s true.” His voice was a quiet murmur as he tried to justify his lack of performance. “I don’t know why I struggled to hold that note. It pulled me back from the song and it took me a while to really get back into it.”

“Yes.” Her voice was ice-cold. “I could hear that.”

“I’m sorry.” He truly was, but more for what was coming next.

She looked down her nose. “You know what this means.” The rhetorical question was punctuated by a small smirk and he had to fight back the urge to sigh.

It meant that he wouldn’t sleep tonight – once again.

The last singer left the stage around 10pm. All spectators shuffled out of the concert hall shortly after that and by the time the staff had restored the theater to its original pristine state, midnight chimed somewhere in the city.

Amanda had left for another personal appointment soon after Connor’s performance. Even if she’d had to fight her way with the theatre’s staff for a few minutes, she didn’t waste any more time than necessary. While Connor was about to spend his night alone in a dark and empty theatre, Amanda had somewhere else to attend. She’d told him about this every day for a week, she had a dinner with a friend of hers - a former student, a prodigy and worldwide celebrity to whom she kept comparing Connor: the great Elijah Kamski.

For a few years now, thanks to Kamski, baroque music and countertenors were cool for the first time in ages. He was the tall, attractive guy who could sing like a woman – and without looking like a sissy. Women loved him, men were intrigued, and bigots hated his guts and feared little boys would turn gay because of him even though Kamski was dating a girl. 

Because of that love-hate battle, mainstream talk shows kept inviting him, repeatedly. Everywhere he went, Elijah had to squeeze his way through passionate crowds waiting for him and signing autographs to crazy youngsters, like a flipping pop singer. For sure, Connor was a bit jealous of his fame; but he did not envy the high-pitched screams Kamski had to endure every time he waved at his fans – or the attacks he was getting.

Interviews were all the same after some point, but Amanda had watched them all – and so did he. When questioned about the reason why he decided to become an opera singer, Kamski always answered, with a tender smile, that the urge to sing had come to him very early on, and blossomed thanks to an open-minded and loving family. The hosts and public never failed to respond with a fond ‘aww’ while, behind her screen, Amanda was seething.

Connor knew that his manager was dying to see him add a note to her attention; to hear him add that he wouldn’t be where he was now if not for his high school music teacher who pointed him to a prestigious conservatory. No tribute to her talent as a teacher, nor as an intermediary, was ever paid but this outrage did not refrain Amanda from meeting up with Kamski every time they were in the same city. Like tonight. If she kept reminding him of their past, maybe he would remember to give her credit at some point.

It was Amanda's strength. A cold and insidious force, never-ending and stubborn, like the calm stream that eats its way through the stone, atom by atom.

He could only imagine their evening together, probably in a very expensive restaurant in the city. As for himself, Connor had bought a miserable-looking sandwich at a 24/7 grocery store next door and had patiently waited for the theatre to be completely empty. Amanda had arranged everything with the guard so that he could use the stage and the concert hall even after closing time. And no one refused Amanda anything.

No one below her anyway.

Coming up on the stage with heavy feet, his stride weighed down by fatigue, Connor put the metronome on the ground in front of him before stretching. He did a few short vocalization drills and then sang the first measures of Vivaldi's short piece, the same measures on which he had struggled a little earlier. Tomorrow – or later this morning - he would sing this piece to Amanda, and it would be flawless from start to finish.

She came back at 8:00 am, freshly combed and neatly dressed, while his short nap in one of the front row seats had left his hair sticky and his suit crumpled. Getting up slowly, Connor felt as if some sick animal had half-digested him and then spat him out. Without any further greetings than her cold look, Amanda sat down in the front row while Connor slowly went back on the stage.

“Now sing.” She ordered.

Always that same word.

Now.

Now sing, now stand straighter, now go to bed. Since his parents had died and Amanda had become his legal guardian, Connor had come to hate that word. He hated it even more so now that Amanda had managed to make him sign a contract that tied her as his agent – exclusive agent and manager. Since that day, like the horse trainer who received a promising yearling, which still need a bit of work before it could win its first race, Amanda was driving him with a tight bridle and keeping her riding crop close to his flanks.

The eternal injunction was like a sharp sting on his rump.

_Now._

Swallowing his irritation, which he knew was only coming from his advanced state of tiredness, Connor sang. 

His interpretation was impeccable, even his sleep-deprived brain had the strength to realize that. His gallop was smooth and efficient, his long strides delivering a stunning performance. He closed his eyes, and now that the vision of Amanda’s stern look was gone, he could let the song swallow him whole and sail away to better shores. There, on the smooth sea of his own voice, Connor sang higher, holding the high-pitched note effortlessly before continuing. The lyrics felt like smooth pearls on his tongue and he delivered the last syllables in a delicate yet assured breath.

After a few seconds, Connor opened his eyes to the quiet room, his voice dying out in a faint echo in his ears. Alone on the stage, he suddenly felt strangely naked under the persistent look of his manager.

“Now go back to the hotel and rest.” She ordered. “I don’t want these sleepless nights to show on your medical check-up next Tuesday.”

Connor considered the absence of reproach like the most beautiful compliment she could give him. Before she could add anything, he complied and left.

God. How much he hated those medical check-ups. He hated those cold, abrupt hands that pushed him into position, those doctors who gave him orders - open your mouth, jump there, breathe into that. Amanda always insisted he went anyway. If he ever were to develop something serious, they had to detect and treat it as soon as possible. Vocal cords were such fragile things.

Yes, very fragile indeed. Even more so when you worked them relentlessly and over their capacity.

The doctor noted a slight inflammation that he wrote down in his file and tried several time to get personal information about his general state of mind. Connor stayed tight-lipped as usual. What was the point? He would certainly be in another city the next time, another doctor would overview his file and ask the same useless questions.

He was fine.

Except that he was so late.

Connor ran out of the doctor office as if the building was on fire, shrugging his coat on and looking at his watch with horror. A part of him was still hoping that he’d missed the winter time change but his own personal version of Amanda pointed out contemptuously that time change did not happen on Tuesdays and that he was indeed one hour late. He grabbed his phone instantly. Better warn her now than make her wait wondering why the fuck he wasn’t there already.

Amanda’s voice almost froze his ear and he could hear the silent threat when she asked him to hurry up. Hurry up he did, and he jumped on the next subway train barely sparing a second to look at the directions.

Amanda had arranged a meeting with the director of the Detroit Conservatory, claiming to have with her a student just as good as Kamski and that she was dying to introduce him to the director of such a prestigious music school. He would certainly make a nice addition to the hall of fame of the conservatory. She had also certainly told him she was one of Eliijah’s former teacher, casually mentioning that fact in order to attract the Director’s attention.

Kamski’s name had left her enough room to slip her foot in the door, and she didn’t need anything more than that to get what she wanted.

The entry competition was focused on skills, talent and dedication to the art – not on social relations or family name. But that did not stop Amanda from weaving her web and exerting her insidious pressure.

As always.

Stumbling out of the underground entrance with an air of panicked meerkat, Connor tried to find his way on the large square that stretched out all around him. According to the photographs printed on the brochure of the school, the building was rather recognizable with its red brickwork and white-framed windows. He looked around. The square and several building on its edge were undergoing major renovations. Pedestrians were channeled into wide corridors made out of palisades covered with useless city hall advertisements, but none looked like a map.

‘Detroit is getting a new look!’ cheered a blonde printed on a very large poster near where he was still standing. But he didn’t care about that! He needed to find the conservatory and quick – or Amanda would crucify him right now and then.

Feeling the panic growing inside of him, the young singer randomly went left, towards a large building whose façade was covered with scaffoldings up to the top. Once there, the posters informed him that, ‘for you, the town hall is getting a facelift’. He ran back the way he came, swearing softly – he would be the one getting a facelift once Amanda was done with him. The brochure only said Hart Plaza, no number, no access map.

Crap.

He was just about to get his phone out to google map his way out of this when a silhouette caught his eye: a blond woman with a guitar case on her back. He went after her with a desperate shout.

“Excuse me!”

The woman turned around and the exasperation on her face had him pause. Maybe the GPS option would have been safer.

“What?” she asked, her voice dripping with annoyance.

“I’m sorry to bother you.” He tried to force his voice to work without trembling but his nerves were getting the better of him. “I’m looking for Detroit Music Conservatory.”

“Do I look like someone who’d go there?” the dripping got even stronger and her face took a dangerous look. God she was just as scary as she was beautiful.

“I-” He stammered. “It’s just that-”

“That’s on the other side of the fountain.”

He turned around to look in the general direction she was pointing at, her arm raised in an exasperated shrug. She did not hold the position very long but it was enough for Connor to see, with horror, that the fountain was almost at the other end of the square and the school even further. He turned back towards her in order to thank her despite the bad news, but she was already leaving, walking away briskly and muttering something like ‘fucking tourists’ under her breath.

Amanda’s reproachful words already ringing in his head, Connor ran across the square as if his life depended on it. Amanda always suppressed her accusations and incisive attacks when they were in good company, so as to maintain the illusion of being the sweet trainer of an exemplary colt. But once they got back to the privacy of their hotel, Amanda always chastised his behaviour with more determination than a hyena feasting on a fresh carcass.

When Director Fowler’s assistant brought him into his office, Amanda was standing at the corner of the desk, her elbows resting on the solid wood in order to share something on her phone with the other man. Without a doubt, she was showing him one of the various recordings she took of his performance and if this position was also giving the director a nice view of her cleavage, that was only pure chance.

She stood straight as soon as Connor walked in, skillfully converting her annoyance into and exclamation of relief.

“Ah, Connor! You’re here at last. I was starting to worry.”

Fowler might buy this obvious lie, but Connor knew better – and two could lie. 

“I’m sorry; there was an accident on my metro line.”

The director, an African American in his forties, with a rather imposing stature, greeted him with a firm handshake. Connor replied with a reserved but cordial smile, even though he already knew how the conversation would unfold. ‘The voice and the face of an angel!’ Fowler would call him. He would reassure the young singer about his future in this academy, tell him that, with such a dedicated manager, he would easily reach the top – just like Kamski.

“It would be a shame to let such a promising student go to another school.” Fowler told him at the end of their meeting. “I hope the entry competition will be a mere formality for you.”

Detroit conservatory opened its advanced musical course to a dozen young classical artists, with various courses on history and linguistics but the in-depth courses on the instrument of choice (in Connor’s case, vocals) were private lessons. Even if other artists would be admitted with him, he would have to be the only winner in his category at the end of the competition. The director could give him his vote, but the rest of the jury would still need convincing.

They had lunch together in a private room isolated from the rest of the mess hall, and Connor tried to get a minimum excited about the on-going conversations as he watched Amanda weave her web without her victim even noticing. A touch on the director’s hand during a story, a slight caress of her foot as she changed her legs’ position under the table: furtive and insignificant contacts that worked incredibly well on men of this age. The poor man stood no chance. He would eat in her hand by this evening, and would be able argue vehemently in Connor’s favor during the deliberation of the jury, Amanda's words echoing out of his mouth as effectively as if she had sat him on her knees and inserted her hand in-

Slightly disgusted by the image of Amanda’s new puppet provided by his brain, Connor excused himself from the table, his appetite suddenly gone.

After a visit of conservatory, Connor had to abandon Amanda and Fowler in order to resume his compulsory routine - routine that this interview and the medical visit this morning had completely turned upside down. He could have use their meeting as an excuse to avoid his two hours of cardio training but the idea of being alone on his treadmill, without having to suffer the reproaches of his manager or witness her outrageous manipulation, helped him make his decision. He had just turned his back on them when Amanda called after him.

“Connor, you’ll wait for me before having diner right?”

The question mark was for the show, he knew. It was another cute display of their fake symbiotic relationship, which fooled Fowler once again and left him with a fond expression on his face. However, Connor could easily translate the promise of a very difficult conversation once she’d be home.

Amanda had never left any marks on his skin – too incriminating. Sharp as daggers, her words left no trace and that was the weapon she preferred instead. Like the shepherd’s stick on the flanks of stray sheep, she was using her constant verbal scolding as a way to guide him to the top. On bad days, she could also become the border collie dog closing its jaw on the back of his knees.

He knew there would be no stick tonight.

How dared he? How could he spit on her hard work like that? He really thought she was doing all of this for fun? His late arrival required tremendous efforts to keep Fowler in line when this affair should have been won already. Amanda spent so much time buttering that fat ass of a director that her mouth was desert dry.

“Now pour me a drink and go train in your room for that competition.” She ordered in a tired sigh. “And I don’t want to hear you stop before 11pm.”

In the darkness of their current Airbnb, he trained as instructed. With several warning stomps of their foot, the upstairs neighbor quickly made it known that they weren’t so fond of Connor’s very loud singing but he ignored them. Their wrath was nothing compared to his manager’s.

Connor woke up the day of the competition with a mixed feeling of relief and anxiety. After these three days of competition, Amanda would certainly cut him some slack and focus on whom she had to manipulate to get him to sing in some prestigious concert hall on weekends. They would finally rent a proper flat to accommodate his school schedule, and his weekly routine would finally be diversified by the different courses. With any luck, he might finally be allowed to touch his long discarded cello without having Amanda preventing him from playing because, according to her, that would not get him any points at the entry competition anyway.

Once Amanda had deemed his voice more remarkable than his skills as a cellist and noticed that the competition was sparser with countertenor singers, she decided that his training would be focused on singing – and singing only. He still was a pretty good cello player and he’d rather let the bow of his mom’s cello glide on the delicate strings than sing with the greatest orchestra of the country.

Written tests were only a formality that he passed diligently, his mind fixed on a perfect score. This would allow him to gain as many points as he could over the other singers he’d spotted, but, more importantly, a perfect score meant that he would not have to justify any mistake to Amanda's condescending face. 

Slightly nervous for his final test, Connor quietly entered the audition room. The concert hall was quite small but it felt ridiculously big for such a small audience. The jury was seated in the pit usually reserved for the orchestra during operas while the rest of the seats stayed empty. Despite the distance, Connor noticed some teachers whispering when he approached and he couldn’t help but swallow nervously.

Amanda’s tricks were a dangerous business. A little bit too much pressure and her intentions could suddenly become clear. Her manipulation exposed, the persistent grudge left in the wake of that treachery would disqualify him instantly – however hard he tried to make amends and claim he wasn’t aware of his manager’s behavior.

The director gave him an honest smile before inviting him to take place on the stage with a small gesture of his hand.

“State your name and the title of the piece you’ll be singing, if you please.”

“Connor Jarosky,” he stated calmly. “The piece is ‘Cum Dederit’ by Vivaldi.”

The woman who asked for the information ticked a few items on her list before giving him an expecting look.

“We’re listening.”

After a few crackles, the main speakers coughed the first notes of recorded music, which Connor used when he was training without a real orchestra. He closed his eyes during the opening of the song by the violins, using that full minute to calm his nerves and slow down his breathing. There was nothing complicated or impressive about this that he should be worried about. He had sung this very song in front of hundreds of people in Chicago’s concert hall last month. They were only five adults in front of him.

He was fine.

The violins slowed down to a pause and he took one deep breath before allowing his voice to shine. Like the eagle gliding inside a warm column of air, he plunged into the song, twirling the modulated syllables and holding the long G as if it was nothing more than a contented sigh. He flew high into the room, delivering each note brilliantly as if the music was warm air under his wings and his body suddenly weighted nothing. As if each and every atom of his body were blown away by Vivaldi’s song – like sand in the desert wind. Free. Playful.

He let his voice and mind roam away for several minutes, only opening his eyes to realize that he didn’t remember what he just sang or how well he had just performed. He only remembered that feeling of freedom – and could feel now how hard he missed it. Fowler smiled proudly to him and the general good mood of the jury was enough to calm his anxiety. He left the room with congratulating words from the five teachers.

The letter of the results came two weeks later. He found it already opened on the coffee table after coming back home from a shopping excursion downtown for his cello. The absence of reproaches gave him a pretty good idea of the results but he still unfolded the thick paper in order to confirm his good intuition. The affirmative answer from the school had him sigh in relief.

Amanda suddenly called him from the kitchen.

“Now we'll finally be able to work on that career of yours.” She sighed when he finally joined her. “Remember to be exemplary and listen to your vocal teacher as if they were God himself. Got it?”

“Yes Amanda.”

He knew exactly what she was getting at. Kamski's fame as an opera singer had been fast as a shooting star, thanks to his voice, his looks, but also thanks to his young and lovely teacher. Her love for him and her dedication radiated around them every time he performed somewhere in the country and had spread like some contagious disease. This was the most efficient advertising Kamski could have ever hoped for and fame hit him hard and fast.

Rumor was that they were getting married soon and internet was already weeping.

However, Connor had seen his singing teacher during the competition two weeks earlier and he knew there wouldn’t be such a happy announcement in his case. He was ready to sacrifice some part of his pride for his career but he'd certainly not bat his eyelashes for a fat guy in his forties, almost bald if not for the greasy hair on the side of his angry face. Amanda could do it if she wanted. He had to draw the line somewhere for himself.

His first day of school happened the following month and Connor found that, despite his friendly looking class, he did not manage to bond with any of his classmates. A part of him, longing to belong, was a bit worried about that sad truth. How could he expect to make a name for himself when even musicians did not care about him? On his shoulder, his small version of Amanda brought back his attention the black board in front of him with a slap at the back of his head. Whatever his classmates said or did, he didn't need to chat with them nor did he need their approval. For all he knew, they were all jealous of him and his well-managed career.

Two students laughing in his direction had him doubting tiny-Amanda's reassurances but he still complied with her instruction and copied diligently the notes written on the board.

Everything was all right.

Looking for an empty room in order to practice his daily scales, Connor roamed through several freshly renovated floors before wandering into an old wing. This part of the conservatory seemed to be full of empty and nameless rooms, far from the whiteness of the rest of the building – and far from the sneering looks of his classmates. He tapped softly on the door of a randomly chosen room and was not surprised when he got no answer. He pushed his way inside, slowly revealing an old classroom with stained tables and tired-looking chairs. Halfway through closing the door, Connor froze, stopped in his tracks by a deep voice coming from the last row at the back of the classroom.

“If you’re looking for a room to take a nap, this one’s already taken.”

The guy was peering at Connor over the top of his magazine. His silver hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and, despite his nonchalant way of sitting (with his feet on top of a nearby table) and his bright earphones, Connor guessed that the man was in his early fifties at least.

“Sorry” Connor stammered while opening the door as to leave. “I was only looking for a room to practice my scales.”

“Don’t leave just yet kiddo!”

A bit confused by the mixed signals he was getting, Connor stepped back into the room.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I sing pretty loudly; I would not want to bother you.”

“Whether you sing here on in a room next-door, these paper-thin walls won’t do anything to stop me from hearing you.” He shrugged at Connor’s perplexed expression. “Plus I was getting tired of my playlist. Listening to your singing will be a nice change. Go ahead. ”

As if to support his statement, the man removed his headphones and tip-tapped on his phone in order to pause said playlist. He set the magazine back on his lap before rising a questioning eyebrow.

“Problem?”

“Of course not.”

Of course, yes. However, he had already closed the door and he didn’t want to look like a fool by fleeing the room like a scared animal.

Now chin up, and be proud! Amanda had repeated this instruction so many times he had assimilated this mantra like a reflex. Every time he could feel doubting thoughts seeping their way into his mind, Amanda’s order echoed in the back of his head like gunfire.

Swallowing excuses and other lies to get out of there, Connor lifted his chin and walked to the front of the classroom.

After working a few minutes on his scales and a few arpeggios, he started singing [a short and sorrowful baroque song](https://youtu.be/nN36qeZ-JzM). He sank deep into the tune, cradled by the sad melody and he soon forgot about the strange man sitting at the back of the room reading his magazine. He jumped on the next song, the same he had sang a few weeks before for the entry competition and he was relieved to see that Amanda’s ruthlessness in her training did not tarnish his pleasure of singing this tune.

He stopped after these two songs, satisfied by his short training, before turning towards the rest of the room.

The other man was staring at him, his mouth slightly opened on a mixed expression of surprise and something else Connor guessed as bewilderment.

“Sorry, was it too loud?”

“No.” the man stammered with a slight frown. “No it just wasn’t what I’d expected, that’s all. But the emotion you’re putting in your song is breathtaking. Keep going like this kiddo. It’s good.”

The compliment left him frozen in place, shocked. He wasn’t used to this kind of honest mark of appreciation and he had to blink away the prickling sensation in his eyes. Damnit, he would not cry because some stranger praised his singing. This was ridiculous, whispered a bitter little voice at the back of his mind.

“Thanks” whispered Connor while looking for a new topic. “Do you work here?”

“Indeed.” There was a big yawn before the man decided to add more. “And I’m late for my next drum lesson.”

And with that, he was off, rolling his magazine under his arm and walking away like he had all the time in the world.

“See you next time, kiddo!”

Hell no.

Slightly non-plussed by this strange meeting, Connor for sure did not want it to happen again any time soon. In any case, his busy schedule left him no choice but to skip his daily scales during lunch-break for the next week. Between the history classes, music theory, linguistics, vocals and all the extra class Amanda insisted he attended; Connor barely had time to eat or sleep a full night. He wasn’t going to last long like this.

He had to weigh his words carefully before presenting his grievances to his manager.

“Your schedule is too busy??” Amanda scoffed angrily. “Kamski managed to get a master degree in IT at the same time as his career as an opera singer. You'll be able to survive these mere two years of school while doing your usual training, won’t you?”

Her question was awaiting a big affirmative nof from his part and Connor knew it was suicidal to answer differently, even though his tired mind was screaming ‘no’ from the back of his throat. He had to present a logical case first.

“I’m just worried the lack of sleep and proper lunch will reduce my performance. It would be a shame for me to be half dead on my feet at school after all the hard work it took us to get me in. It would certainly be a bad image to present to my teachers.”

He looked at his manager while she was mulling this information in silence and prayed she would not suggest he took vitamins or started to wear make-up in order to cover the dark bags under his eyes. After two full minutes of heavy silence, she finally spoke.

“Very well.”

Connor fought back the urge to sigh in relief.

“Thank you, Amanda.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Amanda, you are so kind.  
> enjoy it while you can Connor, it won't last very long *evil laugh*  
> quick chapter to set the mood before diving deeper into the story. Hope you've enjoyed it. Promised, Markus is coming soon.  
> See you guys! <3


	2. 50 shades of sexting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you for your kind reviews!! this means the world to me! <3 <3  
> This chapter is completely un-beta'ed. Please tell me if you spot any mistake.  
> 

A sandwich carefully packed in his bag, Connor went back to the forgotten West wing a few days after his stressful discussion with Amanda. He had a song that he needed to prepare for a concert in Minneapolis the following weekend. It was vital that he could rehearse it as soon as possible and as much as he could during this very short week. He was silently walking in that same corridor when a door left slightly ajar suddenly caught his attention. Curiosity had him looking inside before he could stop himself from doing so.

“Ah kiddo!” Shouted a familiar voice. “Been a while. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

Connor hesitated at the entrance. He really wished to stay clear from that strange man, but his intention would be too obvious now.

“I wasn’t.” Connor lied. “It’s just that I had several activities going at the same time last week.”

“Yeah I bet.” The man scoffed. “At your age I’d say you were too busy having a drinking-sex-lunch but you don’t seem the type.” he mused, completely ignoring the offended look on Connor’s face.

Drinking-sex-lunch?! Who would have time for that? And more importantly, who would do that? While he was still fighting to swallow the spit that caught in his throat, Connor realized the man was still seriously trying to guess what activities he had mixed the previous week.

“Study-lunch?”

That was closer to the truth. But...

“No time for lunch I’m afraid.”

“My, my. You seem busy.” Silver eyebrows went down in a frown before the man gave a little shrug and gestured to the empty room. “Please don’t waste any time on me. Go ahead and get cosy.”

Taking one deep breath, Connor stepped fully into the room, his old mantra echoing in his head.

Now chin up, and be proud.

The following day, Connor found the same door left ajar again and he knew exactly who had left it that way before even peering inside. Holding back an exasperated sigh, Connor almost walked past that room but then realized that this man would be able to hear him from any other room inside this wing of the building, and that he would know then that Connor was indeed avoiding him. His personal version of Amanda mentally slapped him across the face. He could stand and sing in front of hundreds of people but one guy sitting in the same room was making his stress levels spike? Come on now!

He pushed the door and greeted the man as cheerfully as he could.

“Please, call me Hank.” The man corrected him. “’Sir’ makes me feel old – well older than I am.”

The week after that, Hank brought a burger so he could have lunch with Connor and before long, the young singer was spending more time chatting with Hank than rehearsing for his next concert. It was particularly true on Mondays, when he would come back slightly jetlagged from a weekend at the other end of the country – when his tired mind could not fight the dark and morose thoughts that weighted on his shoulders and pulled every atom of his face towards the ground.

When he stopped singing and joined Hank at the table for lunch this day, Hank was looking at the school’s new brochure with disgust.

“God, I hate them already.” Hank sighed.

“Who?”

“The pompous fucks who’ll apply to our school because of this shitty brochure.”

He took a bite of his burger with vengeance.

“Why not look for another school then?” Connor asked. “I can hear you complaining all the time about the students or the new management here.”

“Well the pay is decent and they’re not pestering me too much about my being late.” He paused. Maybe realizing that he was indeed lucky. “But to be honest, I kinda like being able to tell these little shits to piss off. Even more so when they tell me they know better because ‘they saw it on YouTube’.”

Connor could not help but laugh at the quote marks Hank brushed in the air with disgust. However, his laugh died quickly, the cheerful expression washed away by the weight of his tired thoughts. He could see that Hank had paused into his burger to look at him.

“Where are you flying to this time?”

“Los Angeles.”

“Long flight.”

“Yes, but it is more than worth the trip.” He tried to cheer. “Amanda managed to get me to sing a piece with a very prestigious orchestra. They’re playing in the US that week only.”

Really, it was a true privilege to be able to share some stage time with them. Connor looked for more arguments he could use to convince Hank and his perplexed face, but he knew deep down that he was trying to convince himself just as hard as he was trying to convince Hank – and no one was buying it.

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank leaned back in his chair in a quiet huff. “Orchestras are great; but they don’t keep your bed warm at night.”

It took him several seconds and Hank’s very pointedly raised eyebrows to catch up on his true meaning. The realization got him flustered instantly.

“My schedule is just too tight to get acquainted with new people.” Connor said in a rush. “So, finding a lover in these conditions would be close to impossible.”

Amanda always made sure he had very little time to explore this kind of relationship, but to be honest, not being able to spend time with girls did not bother him that much. Between school, his long cardio-training sessions and rehearsals for the next concert, he only had a few hours left to spend on other activities. When he was not riding home in public transportation, he found that he appreciated the time he had with Hank. The man’s rough character and frankness were like a soothing balm applied on the whip marks left by Amanda, and he enjoyed every second of their time together in a very fond way.

Hank’s left eyebrow was now raised in a dubious ark, as if he was waiting for more details or a confession. Connor frowned. What if he didn’t want a girlfriend? This kind of things happened. End of story.

The older man must have realized he would not get any answer from him because he went back to eating his sandwich with a pensive shrug – but like a lone grey wolf patiently stalking his prey, his mind was still set on the same subject. Looking casually at his phone, Hank unsurprisingly brought the topic back on the table not even thirty seconds later.

“You know; now that I think about this, I might know someone who’d be able to get you out in the city to meet new people.”

The idea of adding anything to his already tight schedule had him reeling back in horror.

“Hank no, I do not need any of this.”

“Connor, believe me.” His face was suddenly dead serious. “As a young man, you _do_ need this.”

“I barely have enough time to sleep at night.” Connor pleaded. “I can’t afford to go out with stranger in Detroit for _fun_.”

“Well, you can always meet with him during lunch time.”

And losing an hour of his precious time in Hank’s soothing company? Never! His face must have shown his distaste for that suggestion because Hank quickly offered an alternative.

“Why not after school?”

“I won’t be able to justify this extra time taken on my other activities to my manager. She won’t allow it.”

“Thirty minutes after school, one day, this week. That’s not so hard, is it?” Hank’s words were clipped and is attention fixed on him like a ruthless lawyer trying to break his defence and extract a confession out of him. Too focussed on why they ended up having this conversation in the first place, Connor didn’t object to the initial question and Hank urged on with a small smile. “You can always tell her that the underground broke down and you got stuck there.”

Looking down at his sandwich for advice, Connor pondered Hank’s suggestion carefully. Even though he could feel the routine wearing him down as if he was being crushed by some giant gears every day, the idea of modifying their configuration made him sick with unease. He was used to this, and new things were never good in his experience. But in another hand, he was getting tired of being perpetually crushed in that same agonizing way. He squeezed his sandwich, hoping it would spit out some answer, but his bready advisor remained silent, its sloppy mouth opened on a long cry that only Connor’s brain could hear.

At last, following the sound advices of his BLT, Connor agreed, and Hank's victorious shout at the time almost convinced him that he was making the right choice.

Later that evening, his phone buzzed just as he was getting ready for bed and he knew who was trying to connect with him. He didn’t even know the guy’s name but there could only be one person who would send him a text at this time of the night. Connor felt his throat close on a ball of anxiety and he suddenly regretted listening to his sandwich.

**[Hey Connor!**  
**Hank gave me your number and urged me quite threateningly to offer you a drink this week.  
Thursday 6pm at the Eden Bar. Does that work for you?**  
**Markus.]**

His thumbs hovered over the screen for an eternity before he gathered enough courage to type a short and reasonably cheerful answer. Once his thumbs finally hit ‘send', Connor threw his phone on top of his bed, and hid his face under the covers while his panicked brain was seriously considering staying there for the rest of his life.

On that fateful day, five minutes early, Connor walked in the Eden bar with careful steps, as if he’d walked into a room full of sleeping lions instead of a cosy pub. He was completely out of his mind for doing this. He should not have accepted. Maybe he could still turn away and pretend he’d had a bad and sudden case of influenza. He was already feeling nauseous; the lie would only be a slight extension of the truth.

“Connor?”

The young singer couldn’t help but jump at the mention of his name and he turned around with a start. He was quite surprised that Markus managed to recognize him although he'd given him no indication or clue about his looks. Although, what really made him pause, mouth slightly agape, wasn't the impressive detective skills of his new companion, but Markus' striking looks. His tanned face was almost completely covered with freckles, creating a beautiful contrast with his light-coloured eyes. Connor looked at them with awe, realising now that they were both different – one steel blue, the other one a vivid nuance of green. The subtle difference gave Markus a fascinating look from which he could not tear his eyes away.

His brain allowed him one spark of eloquence before going back to the contemplation of the other man’s handsome features.

“How?”

Maybe 'eloquence' was a strong word, but Markus didn't not seem to mind and replied with a devastating smile.

“Hank told me to look for a Latin teacher lost in the middle of a Heavy Metal concert.” Markus scoffed, slightly amused. “Now I get what he meant.”

Connor didn't. He looked down at his own clothes with a perplexed frown. Did he look like some high school teacher?

A bright laugh made him look up to meet Markus’ mischievous eyes. 

“Don’t worry; you look way better than a Latin teacher.” He purred while extending his hand in a cordial greeting. “Nice to meet you.”

Connor shook his hand hesitantly, trying hard to kick his neurons back online so they could spurt a decent answer.

“A pleasure to meet you.”

“A pleasure indeed.”

If people often said he had the voice of an angel, Markus was evil incarnated. His voice was sweet as a stream of honey gliding on satin and his alluring silhouette was tempting Connor's eyes downwards as if they were magnets pulled down by hard carbon steel. A few polite words were exchanged before he followed Markus to the back of the bar, weak before temptation – and god how was such a glorious butt even possible?! He slapped himself mentally for such impious thoughts and promptly looked up, but Markus' broad and well-defined shoulders did not help him get his mind out of the gutter.

Once their respective butts comfortably seated on one of the old pub's bench, Markus quickly ordered a Guinness while Connor simply asked for a soda with ice – something cold to help him cool his brain and the impious images that kept popping up in front of his eyes. He took a quick sip of his drink but the cold feeling on his tongue did not reach his brain yet. He tried again.

“So when did you arrive in Detroit”

“I grew up here.” Connor answered sheepishly. “But it's only been a few weeks since I’ve settled here in a more permanent way.”

Markus frowned.

“But, Hank asked me to show you around the city as if you've never been in Detroit.”

Connor sighed silently, remembering Hank's determination to play matchmaker.

“My schedule doesn't allow me to try out new things and Hank decided he had to fix that.”

“Are you a minister or something like that?”

Connor was pretty sure a state minister had more free time than he had.

“It's just that my manager is really dedicated to my career as an opera singer.”

Connor tried to stay vague about his relationship with Amanda, and focussed their conversation on his aspiration as a musician instead. After a few minutes only, he quickly discovered that Markus was quite the music lover himself, and before long, they were discussing passionately over the table and Connor had to fight hard in order to defend his favourite composer.

“Come on Connor, beyond the 'four seasons', we all know Vivaldi has not composed anything else that deserves to be called a masterpiece.

“What?” Connor could not keep the bafflement from his voice. He sat straight in his seat, his weight half resting on the table, ready to defend Vivaldi with his hands if he had to. “His operas are the most beautiful thing ever composed!”

“Well obviously not beautiful enough to reach the general public's attention.”

“General public is stupid, that's why!”

Markus laughed good-heartedly at his outburst.

“Calm down, I’m only teasing.” He said, still chuckling lightly. “You’re fiercely attached to your own opinion I see.”

Being able to talk freely about what he really cared about was so exhilarating, Connor had been too drunk on the feeling to notice how loud his enthusiasm had become. He blamed Markus for encouraging this behaviour – he truly was the devil incarnated.

Connor chuckled at the thought before looking down sheepishly.

“Sorry, I got carried away and- Crap!”

Connor looked down at his watch with horror. While his brain was hoping that he’d forgotten about some winter time change once again, the hard truth kept staring back at him with a bored, ticking noise: he was late - again. Already halfway out of his seat, Connor fished a few bills from his wallet and left around twenty dollars on the table.

“I’m sorry I really need to dash. Thank you so much for the drink.”

With the amount of money he had just left on the table, Markus would probably object that he should be the one thanking Connor but the young singer fled before Markus could say anything. He rushed out in the street, slaloming between passers-by and noticing in horror the subtle change in the local fauna. Small groups going out in the city for dinner had already replaced commuting workers going home after their day at work, casual clothing overtook suits and shiny shoes everywhere he looked, and bars were packed and cheerfully loud in the early night.

He was so damn late.

Before he introduced his key inside their flat’s lock, Connor had to pause for a few seconds, just enough time to convert his anxiety into a tired numbness. He was coming from two hours of laborious commute because of a major breakdown in the underground – two hours he had to spend in a packed train with no ventilation. Breathing out slowly like the actor about to walk on stage, Connor set his face into a tired frown. This was the only truth that Amanda needed to hear.

Connor walked in with heavy steps, his excuse falling out of his lips with an exhausted sigh. He dropped his bag on the floor and removed his shoes in a show of relief. When he stood straight once again, Amanda was standing right there in front of him and he had to refrain from twitching under her suspicious stare.

She sniffed the air sharply and that was the only warning he got before receiving one hard and revengeful slap.

“You know I hate when I’m being lied to.”

“I’m sorr-”

“I hope you took advantage of your little detour in god only knows which bar to stuff yourself with nibbles,” Amanda spat out angrily. “Because that's all you'll get tonight.”

While his brain had feasted on the wonderful sight of freckles dancing on Markus handsome face with every expression, his stomach, sadly, had received nothing solid. A fact Connor was not crazy enough to share with his angry manager.

“Now get out of my sight.”

Connor was looking at the blank ceiling above his bed when his phone buzzed in his pocket later that night.

**[I hope you didn’t get in too much trouble going back home late.**  
**I enjoyed this evening very much.**  
**Are you up for a rematch later this week?]**

**[No more trouble than I can handle,**  
**But I don't want to push my luck too far this week. Sorry.]**

A part of him suddenly felt guilty for leaving Markus hanging like this, when deep down Connor yearned to go back to that bar and argue with Markus about music all night long.

**[But maybe the week after that.  
Your opinion about Vivaldi desperately needs to be set straight.  
You have too many gaps in your classical knowledge.]**

**[I'll take great pleasure in letting you fill my gaps ;)]**

Markus' strange choice of wording made him laugh stupidly, a silly smile stretching his face – and not Amanda's slap still fresh on his skin, nor the realization that he'd have to squeeze something else in his already tight schedule managed to make his smile disappear. He immortalized that expression in one simple yet representative text.

**[^__^]**

When he turned his phone back on as soon as he'd landed in Los Angeles, several notifications started piling up at the top of his screen with a soliciting buzz. His tired face instantly lit up when he spotted a text from Markus in the middle of that angry sea of pop-ups. He opened the message with a small smile, zooming quickly on the attached jpeg. The picture was dark, but he easily recognised a concert pit full of people. Only highlighted by coloured lights here and there, the audience looked tightly packed and cheerful, like an ecstatic sea of singing clams. The angle of the picture suggested Markus had taken it from the stage.

**[Do you think Vivaldi used to set the room on fire like this?]**

Later that evening, during the interlude before the second half of the concert where he would be singing his short piece, Connor managed to sneak a quick picture from behind the curtain. Most people were coming back to their seats, squeezing their way between the numerous rows of the old theatre. He sent it immediately to his friend.

**[The room might not be ‘on fire' but many people are still coming to listen to Vivaldi’s work.  
Not bad for a guy who's been dead for more than 200years ;) ]**

**[Wow! A true rock-star. Good luck!]**

Connor couldn't tell if the name rock-star applied to him or Vivaldi, but he still went on stage with a smug feeling puffing his chest like hot air in a balloon. When the [flute started whistling its playful notes](https://youtu.be/an-MGm5H29s?t=43), like a small bird twirling in the air, Connor swore he could almost feel its wings flapping under his ribs. His voice heavy with emotion, he lifted his chin and let out the first words in a bubble of euphoria.

‘Sol da te, mi dolce amore': a declaration love, quaint and idealistic, that he usually addressed to his personal cliché of an opera princess – the heroin of a black and white movie, sitting on the edge of a big fountain with a rose tucked in her heavily sprayed hairstyle and her ridiculously huge dress perfectly laid out around her. However, he was surprised to find his usual cliché wiped out and replaced by a more tanned and familiar face, their heterochromic eyes looking at him with a mischievous smile – someone who was in Detroit right now but whom Connor pictured sitting somewhere in the audience in front of him nevertheless.

Markus kept texting him during the weekend and Connor could not keep the smile off his face every time he exchanged with him – a joyful expression that Amanda did not fail to notice.

“If you don’t leave your phone alone,” she warned him. “I swear I'll throw it out of the window.”

Her murderous look told him she was not joking about this. Connor murmured a quiet 'sorry' before pocketing his phone and kicking himself mentally for his own stupidity. He had just toed a dangerous line there. A little more and Amanda would had demanded to know who he was texting with and Connor knew deep in his soul that she would have asked him to put an end to this immediately – whatever ‘this’ was.

Looking through the plane’s window with a sigh, Connor realized that he would have to stay very low under Amanda’s sharp radar for the next coming days if he ever wanted to see Markus again. This is why, even though it broke his heart, Connor postponed his next rendezvous with him.

However, when a memo came through the following week, informing his class that their history teacher was on sick leave for at least five days, his phone suddenly materialized in his hand and before he could even react, his fingers were already typing.

**[I finish school at 2pm today.  
Are you doing anything this afternoon?]**

Markus' answer came back immediately.

**[I'll be rehearsing with the old band.  
Come and join us.]**

Before he could backpedal before the idea of meeting new people, Markus texted him the address.

**[See you soon ;) ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank's skills as a matchmaker are wasted on his current job. He should resign and open his own firm.  
> Markus made a strong impression on our sweet Connor, even from deep within the closet. Do you think his innocence will last long?  
> now let's wait and see :D  
> See you guys! <3


	3. 50 shades more sexted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, sorry it took me so long to translate. Real life has been a Pain.   
> again, this is 100% un-beta'ed so please, if you spot any weird wording or any mistake, don't hesitate to say so.  
> Now let's crank up a bit the sexual tension here, things are too cosy.  
> Enjoy!

His mind buzzing with a strange mix of impatience and anxiety, Connor sighed for what felt like the hundredth time this morning. Since that memo came in a few hours earlier, and since he had arranged to meet with Markus later this afternoon, his treacherous brain was now seriously starting to consider skipping his remaining lesson of the afternoon – that 1 to 2pm German class that kept him from leaving school at lunchtime to spend the whole afternoon with Markus.

Nearly deaf to everything around him, Connor could feel the angry torrent of his impatience coursing through his veins and making his body hum with frustration. Yet, despite this thick veil of distraction, a little voice miraculously managed to get through. It warned him: if Amanda were to know he’d skipped class, she would kill him so slow he'd wish he had offed himself now and then. He considered that cold and annoying truth with a pout.

There was no way he could risk facing Amanda’s full wrath – for what? Two more hours with Markus? This wasn’t worth it. But then again, he was already dying! A little voice pleaded. He was dying to see Markus again, dying to escape from his class and his boring teacher – dying to be free. His own version of Amanda gave a quiet and low growl, a very dangerous noise he had only heard once. The cold memory of that night and the formidable scolding he'd received brought his focus back on the black board in front of him. However, his mood was still heavy with disappointment, so heavy in fact, that even Hank noticed his brooding the second Connor stepped into their usual room.

“What’s with the long face kiddo?”

“Nothing.”

It took less than two minutes for Hank to get him to spill out his beans.

“For god’s sake Connor” Hank grumbled with an exasperated sigh. “You can be so thick sometimes.”

After confiscating Connor’s sandwich, Hank pulled his phone out of his back pocket, scrolled down for a few seconds and placed his call. Deprived of his lunch and slightly nonplussed by this whole situation, Connor looked at his friend with a creeping intuition – he wouldn’t dare, would he?

“Hey Markus! Hank here. Have you had lunch yet? No? Great.” Hank said cheerfully before turning his attention back to Connor’s stupefied face. “I’m with Connor right now; he just learned that his remaining class of the afternoon is cancelled too. Do you think you can keep a seat for him at the Chicken Feed?”

Connor tried to object, horrified by the idea of skipping class, but Hank dismissed his protest with a small gesture of his hand.

“Great. I’ll send him your way right away. Thanks, you too. Bye.”

Hank hung up with a satisfied grin.

“Hank!” he pleaded almost desperately. “I can’t afford to skip class!

“Of course you can. Who needs German lessons anyway?”

“If Amanda learns about this, I am _dead_.”

He tried to emphasise on that last word with all his heart – because dead didn’t cover half of what Amanda would do to him, but Hank preferred to focus on semantic instead.

“ _’If’_ she learns about it.”

“She’ll learn about it someday!” Connor answered desperately. “She’ll find out in a monthly review from my teacher, or at a school meeting.” He could feel the panic rising at the growing list of opportunities for Amanda to find out about this. “She probably already knows!”

“For god’s sake Connor, relax! I’ll speak to your teacher and no one will ever know about this.”

Only half convinced, but realizing that Hank would probably drag him to that restaurant if he had to, Connor surrendered and started packing his belongings with trembling hands. He fled the school like a shadow, hiding behind corners and slipping through corridors like a thief on the run, his heart beating a loud and panicked music to his ears. Thankfully, Connor reached the main doors without meeting anyone he knew and he let out a sigh of relief as his pulse slowed down a bit.

However, a few blocks further, the idea of being just a few minutes away from Markus progressively took control of his heartbeat’s tempo and his heart started racing again. When he reached the restaurant, Connor found that he was now breathless as well.

The chicken feed was a tiny fast-food restaurant and Connor easily spotted his friend through the front window. When mismatched eyes zeroed in on him and his presence was gratified by a wide and bright smile, Connor’s heart did a strange jump in his chest. He promptly walked inside the restaurant, his wobbly legs carrying him while his brain was still trying to explain his heart’s strange behaviour. Maybe he should drink less coffee in the coming days.

“Hey Connor!”

Markus captured him in a brief hug before stepping back – although without releasing him completely. His smile was just as mischievous as he remembered and Connor's brain derailed for good, letting a strangled ‘hi’ escape his lips before shutting down all the eloquent section of his grey matter. If their first meeting had been pretty neutral, Markus was definitely more tactile now that they knew each other and texted all the time. His hand innocently draped over Connor’s shoulder, Markus was casually keeping him at arm length, unaware of his friend struggle not to shudder under his touch.

He could feel the warmth of Markus’ hand burning through his shirt, and when Markus spoke again, Connor could barely understand the words addressed to him over the hysterical shrieks coming from every cells of his skin, which suddenly felt too tight – too hot. 

“I was chuffed to know that you were joining us this afternoon.” Markus confessed. “But Hank’s call just made my day! What did I do to deserve such a great karma?”

Markus removed his hand and the sizzling sound disappeared – although the tingly feeling remained. Connor had to clear his throat and readjust his shirt before he could answer.

“A sick teacher first, then Hank decided that I did not need German lesson and he sort of removed that class from my schedule.”

Markus bright laugh made several customers look their way.

“Good old Hank! Not that I am complaining.” Markus chuckled fondly before turning around to face the menu printed above the cashier. “What do you fancy?”

Connor had to fight hard in order to tear his eyes away from Markus' profile, which he did fancy quite a lot – more than the idea of food in fact. Without much inspiration, or appetite, Connor ordered a small chicken wrap and a soda. However, once both men had sat down in a corner of the restaurant and once Connor’s beating heart had taken its place back where it belonged, leaving room for other organs once again, his stomach immediately complained against his ridiculously small order. The offended organ let out a low and hungry growl and Connor could not help but look at Markus' fries with envy. Maybe he should have ordered some as well.

“I will allow you to take some of mine.” Markus purred. “But at one condition only.”

“Which one?”

“I want to hear you sing. Just for me.”

The request and the sultry tone used by his friend almost had him choke on his lunch. He hid a small cough and the redness of his face behind his hand, and chewed for several long seconds while his brain was already looking for an excuse in his databank.

“You can easily look me up on YouTube for that.” Connor said dismissively. “I’m sure Amanda has recorder all my performances for the last five years.”

“I much prefer listening to live music” Markus leaned over the table while casually picking a few fries. “Plus, hank told me he’s enjoying a VIP concert every day at lunch time. I’m a bit jealous.” his mouth was stuck in a childish pout until he swallowed the fries still pinched between his fingers.

Markus’ nearly pornographic way of eating his fries and the intensity of his look had Connor looking down at his lunch, his face suddenly feeling too hot. While is brain was still struggling between finding a way to avoid singing more than he had to and to get out of the very deep gutter Markus had thrown him into, his stomach took the decision in its stead. Better surrender now or he would only get cold fries.

“Well then; I guess it’s a reasonable exchange.”

Markus sucked his fingers clean with several loud popping noises before handing his cardboard box full of fries over the table. His face was almost serious except for the small smirk that was pulling his mouth sideway.

“Do we have a deal?”

Looking down at the offered fries with a suspicious feeling nagging at the back of his mind, Connor could not ignore the little voice whispering its warning. There was a decent probability that he was making a pact with the Devil Himself without even knowing it. Several images of a room in flames, full of sweaty bodies and leather ties suddenly splashed at the back of his mind and Connor promptly reached for Markus’ fries. He grabbed one with shaking fingers. If agreeing to this meant that he would have to suffer and moan in pain under these delightfully agile fingers, then maybe the torture wouldn’t be so bad in the end.

“Deal.”

The mischievous smile came back full force and Markus went back to eating his lunch with a low grunt of satisfaction.

The place where Markus and his band were meeting for rehearsal was an old disused theatre nearby. A big sign still read ‘Jericho’ above the main doors but the letter E was nearly falling off the façade and most of the front windows were painted in white from inside. He followed Markus in, expecting some sort of a dirty squat but he was proven wrong as soon as they reached the main room. The whole building was a glorious artist den, a mix of colours and texture, which gave him the strange impression that he’d just stepped into the belly of a huge mystical beast – a unicorn kind of beast for sure.

A big mural was covering most of the brickwork of two of the main walls, marking out in bright colours what Connor guessed was the painters' area. Dozens of easels were stored in the corner, surrounded by canvas of all shapes and sizes, and other well-used supplies. Some freshly painted canvas, still sitting on their respective easel, were covered with wide fabric, and the once white sheets, stained with dry paint and hung precariously on the old wooden frames almost looked like ghosts who just came back from some feisty carnival. The other corner was packed with three or four clothe racks bending under the weight of numerous costumes, colourful capes and other mismatched accessories. Probably the acting supplies, he guessed – or unsold clothes from some charity shops.

Black paint covered most of the back wall, as if it had suffered an explosion powerful enough to burn the bricks to black charcoal. Like nature creeping its way back into abandoned cities, musicians had claimed the blackened space and installed their stage here. Two columns of loud speakers stood at each side of the stage while a smaller speaker laid at the front, trying to set a limit to the forest of mics and cables covering most of the floor like untamed roots.

Crouching over a dense patch of cables, a tall blond girl was searching through the mess to find the right cable so she could connect her bass guitar. Someone suddenly hit the snare drum and Connor only then noticed a tall man sitting behind the drum set, his dark skin and clothes camouflaging him almost completely in the dim light of the room. On his left, another guy was absentmindedly playing on his keyboard, but despite his lack of concentration, he was the first to spot the newcomers.

“Oh Markus! Here you are.” His joyful exclamation was dripping with honest relief. “We were starting to get worried!”

Connor had to admit that he did delay the both of them by taking far too long to finish his lunch – but he entirely blamed Markus for this.

He would have finished his food much sooner if Markus hadn't derailed his train of thoughts by sucking his fingers clean every 30 seconds. After the tenth time, Connor had almost pleaded that he used a napkin but a low and dangerous growl inside his belly had silenced his protest. It was like a dragon waking up from a deep sleep, breathing its hot breath all over his insides and Connor had poured cold soda down his throat in hopes that the cold liquid would extinguish the burning fire but nothing seemed to be wet or cool enough kill the red-hot embers of his libido.

Only Detroit’s cool air had managed to chase away some of the more salacious and perfectly shameful pictures still dancing at the back of Connor’s mind. His skin didn’t feel so feverish anymore but he could still ear his dragon’s hoarse breathing, feel its hot breath muting into a contented purr when Markus’ luscious posterior guided him through Detroit. He had eagerly followed Markus, like a blind man chasing braille letters with his fingers.

Yes. It was entirely Markus’ fault if they were late.

However, Connor decided it was more polite to shoulder the blame - as Amanda had taught him.

“I’m afraid it is my fault.” Connor said with a shameful expression. “I arrived late for lunch and Markus had to wait for me. Hence our late arrival.”

“Since when do you play tourist guide, Markus?”

The question made them both flinch and Connor looked towards the girl who was still crouched in the corner of the stage. Now that she was looking at him, Connor recognized her frowny face straight away. She was that same girl who had pointed him to the music conservatory school several weeks ago. Markus spoke before Connor could clarify her statement.

“Connor is no Tourist, North.”

“That’s not the impression he gave me last time I saw him.”

Markus turned promptly towards him, his left eyebrow raised in confusion.

“I was looking for Detroit Music Conservatory.” Connor explained with a sheepish smile. “She was the first person I stopped to ask for direction.”

“Wow, you’d better ask a Rottweiler for a hug. That would be the safest option.”

“Fuck off, Josh!”

“Rottweiler dogs don’t bark that loud, for sure.”

“Simon!”

North offended shout was interrupted by Markus’ bright and amused laugh.

“Ok guys, get off her back, I don't want you to get hurt.”

Wiping tears off with a chuckle, Markus waited until everyone had settle down before introducing Connor to the whole team; North on bass, Josh on drums and Simon on synth. Connor waved at them timidly. After a few minutes of small talks, Connor stepped back to take a seat at the back of the room as they all slowly took place on stage and started discussing about their rehearsal schedule. Already adjusting his guitar over his shoulder, Markus stepped forward, and winked at Connor’s appreciative look before focussing on his guitar. It was a miracle he’d caught on Markus’ wink, really – his eyes were looking at everything but his face.

After a few minutes of warm-ups, Markus stroked two chords on his guitar and the rest of the band caught on the song almost immediately, joining the melody like gears of a well-oiled machine working in synch. The song grew quickly and Connor was suddenly struck with awe, his mind blown away by the perfect symbiosis of the four musicians. As the guitars rasped more notes over the drum line, the feeling grew, and Connor could not refrain from following the low beat with his foot.

And then, Markus came close to the mic.

Just as raw as the notes he was playing on his guitar, Markus' voice was hoarse and suave, his deep tones highlighted here and there by higher notes, like bright touches on a rich oil painting. His body suddenly frozen in place, Connor exhaled a strangled breath as a powerful shudder coursed through him. All of his brainpower switched to the observation of his new friend, his eyes drinking the sight of every ripple of Markus' lean body, every syllable murmured against the mic, every movement of his hand along the guitar handle. Soon enough Connor found himself hypnotized by those strong yet agile fingers, which were dancing on the strings with a remarkable precision. His treacherous brain suddenly imagined Markus' fingers crawling up his arms with the same dedication and he almost chocked on his own spit.

For god's sake, they had spent less than three hours face to face and Connor was already thoroughly fascinated by his new companion. This was perfectly indecent but he couldn’t help but stare.

Unaware of Connor's inner turmoil, the band kept practicing with enthusiasm as he tried to focus on the music instead. It took two songs for Connor to really appreciate their music in full, to see it as something crafted by all four musicians and not only a languid song emanating from Markus sensuous form. They rehearsed four or five songs before voting for a short hydration break. His guitar promptly stored next to North’s bass, Markus grabbed a cold bottle of water from a small freezer hidden behind the stage before joining Connor on the tired-looking bleachers. Despite the dim light, Markus' skin was obviously shining from exhaustion, and, when he unceremoniously sat down next to him, his relaxed pose and sweaty appearance made him look like the perfect picture of debauchery.

“What did you think?”

It took Connor a few seconds to understand the question. What he thought about the music, not Markus' physique or his natural sensuality.

“I enjoyed it very much.” Connor answered in a strangled murmur. He enjoyed the show so much, his blood was still half-boiling in his veins and he yearned to listen to more of their passionate music. “Did you record any album yet?”

“Nah. Albums are for pros. We aren’t there yet.”

“Oh?” Connor asked, genuinely surprised by this statement. They were far too good to be amateurs. “I’d buy your album straight away! I’m sure anyone would.”

“Yeah well. People enjoy what we do but our community isn’t strong enough for producers to stop ignoring us.” Markus shrugged, not bothered all that much by their stagnating fame. “Maybe you could introduce us to you manager; she seems like the kind of person who could convince a producer to give us a chance.”

The idea of their potential meeting with Amanda had Connor reeling back in horror, his mind stumbling to find excuses against this suggestion.

“She mainly works in the Opera industry. I don’t think she has contacts with indie-rock labels. And in anyw”-

Raising his hand in the international sign of surrender, Markus interrupted his desperate rant with a chuckle.

“Alright. Alright. I get it.”

Markus shook his head and Connor would have believed the dismissive gesture a mark of exasperation if not for the tender smile that persisted on his friend’s face. He briefly closed his eyes before looking intensely at Connor, his mischievous smile back in place.

“Do you want to get up there and show me what you can do in this humble theatre? Hank tells me that you have a very powerful voice for someone your size.”

Even if a part of him was quite pleased by the fact that Hank had praised him to his friend, Connor dismissed the compliment almost automatically.

“The room I’m rehearsing in is really tiny and its ceiling very low. There is no comparison possible with the concert hall I usually have to perform in - and without any mic. I would be a poor opera singer if Hank could not hear me properly from less than five meters away.”

“Well, I can listen to you from the very back of the theatre. That way I can forge an objective opinion on your talent and the power of your voice.”

Looking away with a quiet huff at Markus’ playful stubbornness, Connor watched Simon dispense bottles to the rest of the band with an amused smile. Markus was persistent, but Connor had years of excuses stored in his brain. They could negotiate about this all day and Connor would still have new arguments to avoid singing more than he had to. He looked back at Markus, feigning innocence when he knew his smile was betraying his intention far too much.

“Your friends did not pay their share of fries; it would be unfair for them to enjoy a concert when you are the only one who’s paid me.”

At the mention of their previous deal, Markus face took a dangerous and hungry look, as if Connor had just transmuted in a delicious serving of fries – these same fries Markus had devoured earlier, sucking the grease off his fingers far too often for Connor’s sake. The young singer looked down at Markus’ fingers, which were busy peeling the label of his bottle off. The agile and precise movements caught his attention for a few seconds before Markus’ low voice brought him back into the game.

“You want to make me beg? To make me yearn for this until I break down and come at your school to take Hank’s place, it that what you want?”

Responding in kind to Markus’ almost menacing tone, his personal dragon breathed out a low growl of appreciation that warmed him from inside and out. If resisting to Markus meant witnessing the transformation of his cheerful friend into a dangerous cat, a panther whose shiny fur kept twitching under the thrill of the hunt, then yes, a thousand times _YES_.

Connor inhaled slowly, ready to confess, but a voice interrupted him before he could say anything.

“Hey Romeo! You coming back here or do we have to find ourselves a new lead singer?”

“I’m coming!” Markus answered North half-menace with a cheerful smile and an innocent wave in the band’s direction. However, he promptly faced Connor again, an accusing finger already pointed towards his chest.

“And you” He growled. “I’m not done with you!”

Connor had to fight hard to keep his mouth shut and his eyes well above the waistline of Markus’ departing back, while his whole body shuddered at this promise. Some would have considered his friend’s words as a threat, but something in Markus’ rumbling voice had struck a string in Connor’s mind – something just as dangerous as the dragon that was still breathing molten steel in his veins.

His alarm clock rang a few minutes later and he reluctantly excused himself before the end of their rehearsal in order to catch his metro at the usual time.

He wasn’t home for more than a few minutes before his phone buzzed with a familiar persistence. However, just as he was about to get into his bedroom so he could enjoy some privacy and devour Markus’ text, Amanda called him to the kitchen for assistance. Pocketing his phone and swallowing his disappointment at the same time, Connor dragged his heavy feet to the kitchen counter, under Amanda’s reproving stare. With a nod, she pointed him to the cutting board, with the instruction to cut smaller pieces than the one he did last time. Another buzz from his pocket fuelled his frustration at being forced to chop dozens of carrots when he wanted nothing more than to chat with Markus, but the simple mention of his friend’s name still brought a smile to his face.

“Distracted as you are, try not to cut yourself.”

They busied themselves with the preparation of their dinner, without any cuts nor conversation. After a final addition of salt and aromatic herbs, Amanda put the chicken in the oven with a vengeful slam while Connor was just about to slide all the carrots into a pot of boiling water. He spent a few seconds staring at the little orange pieces dancing in the water, watching as they dived to the bottom, dragged under by turmoil. His thoughts followed one random piece to the darkened belly of the brand-new cooking pot and he suddenly found himself back at Jericho, somewhere at the back of the old theatre, loved into his seat and mesmerized by his friend’s passionate performance.

Suddenly, he noticed Amanda looking at him intensely, her arms crossed and her face stuck in a pensive frown. Before she could comment on his distracted slouch, he forced his body into a purposeful attitude – but it was already too late.

“Are you going to stare with this blank expression for long? What’s going on, is something bothering you at school?

“No.” He meant for a reassuring tone but his throat was too tight to let anything out but a strangled objection. He tried a second time. “No, everything is fine.”

Amanda looked at him suspiciously, obviously not convinced and her doubtful grunt was like a powerful kick in the anthill of his panic. If Amanda started investigating, she’d probably discover that he’d skipped class earlier this afternoon. He didn’t even think of asking what excuse Hank had given to his colleague to cover for Connor, so they could get their stories straight. As a musician, he knew more than anyone how important it was to get all instruments tuned to the same note. He could not present any excuse now without risking contradiction later.

Shit.

Strangely loud in the heavy silence between them, the clock on the wall marked each second with a sharp tick. After a few seconds, the loud noise felt like a hammer hitting nails on a wooden cross and Connor could already see himself there, soon to be crucified. Amanda’s sharp brow took a doubtful bend and the cross suddenly turned into long wooden planks: the coffin’s lid his stupidity was nailing down over his sorry ass. 

He had to get out of this conversation, and fast.

“I only have difficulties in one class.” He invented.

The clock’s hand was still ticking away each agonizing second and his heart started beating a panicked tune, almost twice as fast. Difficulties? Did he have a death wish? Did he want more exercises? Amanda had cut him some slacks a few weeks back by removing several items from his schedule, but he could bet his ass she would gladly go back to their previous arrangement and add more training sessions.

Think!

Hank.

Hank could help him.

And why would you seek help from a drum teacher?

“It's just that I might be having some rhythmic issues lately.”

“Rhythmic? That’s new!” Amanda scoffed. “If I’m not mistaken, your course includes some advanced music theory classes to remediate this.”

“Yes, but it’s only theory and no other class really allows me to practice this particular point.”

And who could better help him fix his rhythmic issue than a drum teacher? Drum playing was all about coordination and rhythm. It was perfectly logical to seek help from someone like Hank. It was critical that Amanda came to the same conclusion by herself. Since his manager still looked sceptical, Connor carried on.

“I talked about this issue with a drum teacher at school.” He said innocently. “He thinks he might be able to help.”

“Mmh.”

Amanda short grunt was slightly less reproving than the previous one, sign that she was potentially considering his argument. Connor tried to keep his face blank and his expectation low - even when he could feel hope vibrating furiously in his chest, like the wings of a panicked bird in a cage too small. After several seconds of reflexion, Amanda left the room with a loud sigh and went to grab something in her purse. She came back with her business card and the instruction to give it to Hank.

“Tell him to call me so we can set up some training sessions to work on that problem of yours.

He slipped the well-known card into his back pocket and silently thanked the whole pantheon of gods, from Zeus to Brahma, and even Vivaldi. He'd miraculously passed the first stage of his improvised scheme. Now he only had to convince Hank to face Amanda and cover for his lie, and this situation might turn for the best. While a small part of him was already celebrating, Connor could not help but to cringe internally. He would not introduce Amanda to his worst enemy, yet there he was, pushing Hank under the bus that was his manager.

Was a poor friend he made.

They ate in silence, his brain ruminating that fact until it left a sour taste on his tongue.

Their dinner over and cleaned, Connor all but ran to the sanctuary of his bedroom, his phone like a living presence in his pocket, a red-hot coal he grabbed as soon as his door closed behind his back.

**[It's a shame you couldn’t stay]**   
**[You'd have enjoy the following song I think]**   
**[ ;) ]**

After apologizing for his late answer, Connor immediately asked for clarification.

**[Was it something particular about the lyrics?]**

His brain was struggling to find a song he could have enjoyed more than what he'd heard earlier today but he did not have to wait long before his phone buzzed.

**[You'll have to stay longer next time if you want to find out ;)]**

After a full afternoon spent with Markus, revelling in his friend sensual presence, Connor could easily picture Markus’ smirk, just as easily as he could imagine the sweet voice he would use to pronounce these words. A small breeze tickled the skin at the back of his neck and he almost turned around to check that Markus wasn’t behind him, his hot breath blowing over the fine hair right above his neckline. Markus wasn’t there, but the idea alone had Connor fight a violent shudder.

Damnit.

**[I think your music broke my brain.]**   
**[I keep having these incongruous thoughts.]**

**[Our music caused that, or the performers?]**

Slightly amused by Markus’ boldness, but unable to confess his indecent fascination towards his posterior, Connor opted for middle ground.

**[Maybe a little of both :D ]**

**[Then maybe we’ll wait a bit before you can come and see one of our concerts.]**

Connor had to swallow a sharp pang of disappointment at Markus’ decision.

**[Why?]**

**[Because I have a tendency to get quite carried away on stage.]**   
**[I don’t want to offend your innocent eyes.]**

His brain instantly came up with a detailed picture of Markus, bare chested, his skin glowing with sweat and Connor almost dropped his phone.

**[I think it’s too late for that. I can already picture it.]**

**[Good night, Connor.]  
[Sweet dreams ;D]**

**[Thanks. It shouldn’t be an issue now]**

Despite his affirmation, Connor only grabbed a few hours of rest, his sleep fractured by devastating dreams, fantasies where his whole body felt like a guitar string tensioned to its limit and tortured by the never-ending caress of skilled fingers. They plucked mercilessly at his desire’s core, extracting a tormented song from him. He woke up with a start, his bedcovers damp with sweat and his brain desperately trying to detect any surrounding noise over his ragged breath. He could not tell if his shout of ecstasy had pierced the thick fog of his dream, but the reassuring silence of their flat was suggesting that at least, it had not been loud enough to wake Amanda.

The fact that she did not comment on it the day after gave him the last reassurance his brain needed and he felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulder. Relief lightened his step all the way to school, and everything was for the best in the best of all possible worlds. However, after a few seconds in class, he soon found that he could not sit still on his chair nor focus on what his teachers were saying. Every classroom felt like a prison and he found himself staring at the windows or the door, sighing in despair at being kept away from the most intriguing guitar player of Detroit.

Markus was talented, without any doubt nor contest. His guitar skills were truly impressive, his voice was like warm chocolate on the sweetest of cake and the implacable rhythm of their songs could get anyone bouncing in their seat in a matter of second. This should have been enough to get them to play on national stages already. Plus they had the advantage of having a lead singer who was built like a Greek god. It made no sense. Why in hell was their band still playing in a shabby theatre?

His blood still humming with latent desire, Connor had to fight off the urge to go back there immediately to get his answers, to be alone with Markus, whispering in the dim light of Jericho’s smallest room. At the idea of seeing his friend again, Connor swore he almost felt the magnetic pull of his body towards the exit. He shifted in his seat but the feeling remained and his direct neighbour sent him a warning look.

By an unfortunate coincidence, his classmate was in the perfect alignment between Connor and the exit. With this angle, and from the corner of his eye, the guy probably thought that Connor was staring straight at him, when really, he was only looking at the door, wishing he could leave. After several dark looks and exasperated sighs, his classmate clicked his tongue sharply, sign that he would not bear this any longer. His personal version of Amanda echoed in a similar disproving click of her tongue and even Connor's distracted brain recognised the dangerous line he was toeing with. He looked straight ahead, marshalling what remained of his brainpower so he could follow his damned German lesson.

Their teacher dismissed the class and he was out of his chair before she even finished. However her small voice was quick to stop him.

“Connor, can I talk to you for a minute?”

The question was like a bucket of freezing water upturned over his head. He could feel the cold liquid dripping down his spine, freezing his flesh and biting his spinal cord like a vicious eel. What an idiot! He’d skipped class the day before, and then persisted in his offence by daydreaming during her class, openly ignoring everything she was trying to teach them. Was he looking for her to report him? Write a note in his liaison notebook?

A little voice pointed out that he was too old to still have this kind of notebook, the one that you had to shamefully present to you parents when you misbehaved, but his own personal version of Amanda kicked the voice back to the bottom of his mind with a dangerous growl: he deserved the shame, and far worse than that.

Connor did his best to ignore the smiles and sideway glances he received as his classmates cheerfully walked out of the classroom. Only when the last student walked through the door did he approach the young woman standing behind her desk.

“Are you ok?”

The question made him pause, startled by her deeply concerned expression. He could only stare as she angled her head sideway, her short hair sliding over her questioning frown.

“Professor Anderson informed me that you had a family issue yesterday, and you still seem a bit distracted. It’s not too bad, is it?

“No.” he murmured. “Nothing fatal.”

“Know that my door is always open if you need to talk, ok?”

The suggestion was like a slap in the face, unexpected and incongruous. He tried to hide his shock by nodding diligently, looking like he was acknowledging her offer when, in truth, he couldn’t understand why the heck she would care. Connor never really talked with his teachers after class and it was particularly true with his German teacher. Why would she offer him psychological support was beyond him. She had to be very kind-hearted or maybe too empathic, and that was the reason why she’d instantly pitied Connor – pitied the poor sod that he was, the lonely kid with no friends and no real perspective of a career.

A mean little voice scoffed in agreement. Connor tried to ignore the cruel sneer like he’d learned to do over the years, but his brain was too distressed to fight it off this time. Pity was the right word, and anyone would pity such a ridiculous bastard like him. He should almost be ashamed to show his miserable face in public.

“Thanks.” Connor managed to croak. “I’ll keep the offer in mind.”

Feeling drained, Connor left the room quietly, wondering where his good mood and buzzing energy had gone so suddenly. His body felt like a creaking vessel navigating into thick fog and dead waters, unaware of the sharp reefs all around. He stumbled into the room where he and Hank usually met, reaching blindly for the door handle and pushing the door as if it was made of stone instead of cheap wood. Hank looked up from his already half-eaten lunch and Connor greeted his friend with the brightest smile his tired face could manage at the time. Joining Hank’s rough company truly was a relief, but his stiff muscles failed to convey this particular feeling.

Before Hank could comment about it, Connor set his scores up on the old music stand Hank had brought here a few weeks back and started rehearsing. His first attempt at scales turned out like a strangled croak, as if a sea urchin had found its way in the middle of his throat and decided to stay there. He felt it slide down his throat after several minutes, until it reached his stomach, dropping there like a big chunk of ice. Its heavy weight and freezing temperature forced him to stop after two songs. He just couldn’t do it. Maybe lunch would help dissolve the feeling.

“Are you OK?”

Good job Connor, sneered his own personal version of Amanda. You’re supposed to be a young and radiant opera singer, not a wet chunk of coal people toed around to check if it was still usable. Now then, stand tall and smile!

His first rictus looked more like a nervous spasm than anything else, but his face still managed to give him something resembling a smile and a candid expression. Or so he hoped.

“Yes, I am fine. Why?”

“You already had this kicked puppy look about you when we first met, but now you look like an abused puppy that has been left to starve on the side of the road under the pouring rain.”

Amanda little voice sneered again, pointing out that even Hank pitied him now. He looked down at his lunch, trying his best to ignore that fact but his sandwich and its sloppy mouth looked as if they were laughing at him too. He silenced both mocking laughs with one vengeful bite.

“I though introducing you to Markus and his friends would do you good.” Hank confessed. “But it doesn’t look like it’s working that well. Did something happen”

“No!” Connor quickly objected. “No, it was a great idea. It's just that I wish I could spend more time with them.”

“And you think your manager would object if you did?”

If only he knew.

Connor shamefully slid Amanda’s business card on the table, presenting some lame arguments so Hank would give some credit to his scheme. But the more he stammered, the more his brain distanced itself from his idea. What kind of creep would invent such shenanigans so they could spend a few hours with their friends? And how could he throw Hank under the bus like this?

Hank sat back in his chair with a loud groan.

“So this is what you were scared about?”

If Hank knew Amanda as well as Connor did, he would be scared too. He almost told him so, a few examples on the tip of his tongue, but a little selfish voice silenced him. If he described Amanda’s character too accurately, Hank would never call her.

Hank's sudden laugh was loud in the tiny room and Connor nearly jumped out of his chair.

“Aw don’t sweat it kiddo! I’ll call tonight and you'll be tumbling naked between haystacks with Markus in no time.”

“Hank!”

His protest only received a loud barking laugh from Hank, who doubled over in his chair when Connor tried to hide his burning cheeks. After a few seconds under Hank’s teasing, that frozen ball of self-hate finally melted away and a fond smile found his way on his face. Despite what all the malicious little voices whispered to his hears, he was glad to count Hank as his friend – and he trusted him to be strong enough to survive a few minutes on the phone with Amanda.

“Did your manager work for the KGB or something?” were Hank’s first words when they met the following day.

“Probably in a previous life.” Connor answered anxiously. “How did it go?”

Hank sighed before looking at Connor with a victorious grin.

“Two hours of private lessons, every Wednesday at 5pm. And yes, Markus is free at this time of the week. I called him before proposing this particular time slot to your keeper.”

Before he could think against it, Connor stood up and hugged his friend, grabbing his wide shoulders with force as his laugh was falling off his lips like marble bouncing down steps after steps.

“Thank you so much!”

He thanked Hank again, and again, and again, until both men were chuckling over Connor's effusion of gratitude.

“Alright kiddo. Now there is something you need to do for me.”

Connor pulled back from their hug, intrigued by the request.

"What?”

“You’re gonna enjoy life a little.” Hank ordered with a serious finger pointed in his direction. “And you’re gonna stop worrying so much about everything, ok?

For the first time in what seemed forever, Connor felt happy – truly happy. Hot air left his lungs in bright giggles, making his chest feel lighter at every passing second and his face crunched into a bright and sincere smile. At some point, Connor had to close his eyes under the powerful wave of euphoria that crashed inside of him and he revelled in that feeling like a man basking in the sun after years spent in a cave.

“OK.” Connor answered, his laugh nearly under control. “OK, I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHO'S THE BEST DAD EVER??? <3


	4. Same time, same place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your lovely comments! <3  
> Here is a kawaii chapter before things get nasty. Enjoy ;D  
> You'll take some more honey over your sugar, right?

He met with Markus at Jericho the following Wednesday, a whole colony of butterflies trashing madly in his belly. When he opened his mouth to greet his friend, who welcomed him with a devastating smile, Connor felt them fly away in a puffing cloud of colourful wings – the treacherous insect stealing his voice in the process.

“Come.” Markus said with a quiet laughter.

He caught Connor’s limp fingers with another chuckle and dragged him inside the old theatre. Connor followed, feeling a bit like a sleepwalker whom Markus was guiding back to his own bedroom.

Markus only released him when they reached the old sound control room over-looking the main stage. Most of the original equipment had been stripped away and the room was now used as a mix between a clubhouse and a storage room. Several music instruments were sitting patiently in one corner, collecting dust while awaiting a new owner. On the side of the old control desk, a tired-looking microwave was sitting on top of a small fridge that was buzzing so loudly, its noise was almost blocking completely the cheerful sounds coming from the main room downstairs.

Looking down through the huge window, Connor watched the ballet of actors clearing the main room after their rehearsal. Despite the huge mess they had to put away before anyone could use the working space, they all looked quite happy to be there together. Connor was just about to ask what kind of play would require such a huge amount of accessories and props when he caught sight of Markus’s reflection in the glass.

Even though he could see Markus prowling towards him, and reaching out to him, Connor still jumped when a warm hand squeezed his shoulder to catch his attention.

“Would you like something to drink?”

After fixing a cup of coffee for both of them, Markus invited Connor to sit at the wobbly table and soon enough, the young singer was idly drinking the offered beverage while his brain was feasting on a totally different sight. Markus sat down as well, his body arranged in a languid slouch and his elbows resting comfortably over the table. Connor frowned at the large stains of dried paint his friend was bearing on both forearms.

“Oh that?”

It soon appeared to Connor that his companion was not only a skilful and passionate musician, but also very keen on any kind of art that allowed him to share his positivity and joyful mood with anyone around him. That is how Markus had landed a job as a day-care animator in the paediatric department at the local hospital a few years back. It was only a part time job but Markus devoted most of his energy to this. It was an honour for him to be able to brighten the life of dozens of sick and scared children with various activities and he took the job very seriously – well, not too seriously.

Earlier that day, he’d planned on having the kids to redecorate the blank wall of the games area with a colourful mural. They’d all enjoyed this activity so much that, when time came to go back to their respective room, Markus had had to interpose his body between the freshly painted wall and the passionate mini-artists – hence the paint on his arms: battle wounds he wore with proud.

They chatted the afternoon away for what felt like seconds and it's only when his alarm clock shrieked in his pocket that Connor realized how long they’d spent together.

He looked twice at the clock. Markus had to be a magician as well, a masterful wizard creating time distortion with a flick of his fingers – and of his sinful tongue. Grunting in despair, Connor almost begged him to do the trick the other way around and bring them back to the beginning of their session together, but decided against it at the last moment. He was already too late to ask for anything but one question.

“Same time, same place next week?”

The inquiry was useless but Markus answered it anyway while escorting him towards the exit.

“Same time, same place.”

Obviously proud to have been able to offer his protégé two hours of what he believed to be long session of face kissing and all sorts of fondling – as he liked to tease Connor about- Hank kept a knowing smirk placated on his face for almost two weeks after that. Despite his objections and attempts at defending his honour and trying to convince Hank that their meetings were perfectly platonic, Connor only received the same amused chuckle from his friend.

“Connor, as shocking as it may seem to you, I’ve been young once. And believe me, in my world then, whatever the gender of your partner, all platonic meetings often ended up with all participants naked and covered with unidentified fluids.”

“Hank!”

His friend’s guttural laugh did not help to hide his mortified expression at Hank’s salacious suggestion nor did it prevent impious pictures from entering his brain. His primal instinct had indeed been jabbed by Markus sensual beauty on the day they met, and the dragon that had woken up that day was still blowing its hot breath over the ember of his libido at the only mention of his Markus’ name. However, the more they exchanged, by text or face to face, the stronger their friendship became. Therefore, even if he could feel his misplaced fascination growing week after week, he and Markus only shared a perfectly platonic relationship. 

Well.

**[I dreamt about your fingers last night.]**

Connor almost choked on his own spit when he read Markus’ morning confession.

**[Why??]**

Clearly, two question marks were far from enough to convey his disbelief – and to illustrate that hot feeling suddenly making his blood hum. He was just considering adding some exclamation marks when Markus’ answer came through.

**[I couldn’t help but notice how lean and agile they were.]**  
**[I keep picturing them dancing on a guitar neck since last Wednesday.]**

While his brain was picturing a completely different kind of neck, his phone buzzed a third time.

**[Do you play an instrument?]**

It was 8am sharp and his teacher was already in front of the class, waiting pointedly for everyone to settle down so he could start his course. Connor opted for a short answer before pocketing his phone.

**[Cello]**

His pocket buzzed in acknowledgement, but Markus didn’t discuss further about his choice of instrument nor his fingers. Connor believed the topic forgotten until he entered Jericho's clubhouse the following Wednesday to be welcomed by a big traveling bag with the shape of a cello and a post-it note. Markus and the rest of the band were still rehearsing in the main room downstairs so Connor's obvious questions about this mysterious case were left unanswered. Stepping carefully into the room, he remembered Markus' knowing smile when he'd told Connor to go upstairs in Jericho’s clubhouse and wait for the end or their session. He was pretty sure now that Markus' expression and the big cello case were linked.

He could almost hear Amanda’s derisive hand clapping at the back of his head, and then a quiet scoff. _Nice job, Sherlock._

Holding back a sigh, Connor closed the door behind him and peeled off the little note so he could read what Markus had scribbled on it.

_‘for the pleasure of watching you finger dance :D'_

Connor quickly unzipped the tall bag in order to solve once and for all the case of Markus’ mysterious smile. The dusty fabric unravelled like a banana peel, revealing an old but recently restored study cello. Like they did every time he was faced with a cello, his fingers twitched with the need to grab the instrument. He picked it up by the neck to have a proper look. It had the patina of a once well-loved instrument, passed through generation until no one felt like taking care of it anymore. A hot feeling of protectiveness swelled in his chest and Connor quickly sat down so he could properly hug the old cello. He was there now.

The music downstairs exploded in a joyful chorus as a new song started, therefore Connor estimated he had a few minutes before they would stop rehearsing – enough time to get cosy and breathe some life back into the old instrument. He adjusted the pegs with ease and once the cello properly tuned, Connor lovingly slid the bow over the strings. He kept it light, like a delicate caress over the flanks of a wild and fearful horse. After a few minutes of mutual taming, his movement grew bolder and the instrument vibrated against him, giving a new voice to his mother’s lullaby and muting all the sounds coming from the main room.

He could feel his cello’s rumbling voice piercing through his soul, and inflating his chest like a hot air balloon. Amanda always sent him a reproachful look when he played with such passion at home, accusing him of wasting time he could use to improve his singing. But here, in this sanctuary for arts and crafts, away from his manager and her criticisms, he felt free – free at last. The rusty cage around him creaked against his growing form. He could feel the old prison scratching against his shoulder but he kept pushing against it, using the music as his cane.

Fuelled to the brink with a passion so strong it burned his lungs, Connor removed his left hand from the cello’s neck to get the lowest note the instrument could produce. The vibration made him groan in pleasure, and the cage snapped.

The sudden change in pressure left him dizzy, and he leaned against the old cello, grasping at its neck like a lifeline. He was there now, as was the familiar melody. He closed his eyes, savouring their presence and swimming with them for a few more minutes. It's only when his body stopped shivering under the novelty of his newfound freedom that Connor ended the song in one long sorrowful note - washing ashore after what felt like weeks of sailing.

He opened his eyes to find Markus frozen in the door opening and he could not help but jump in surprise.

“Markus! I didn’t see you coming in.”

“I bet”. He chuckled. “You looked lost in the music.”

He stood up so Markus could give him his usual hug, ignoring the funny way his heart was beating under his ribs. The dragon laying underneath growled dangerously and, now that his cage had been opened, unfolded its glossy wings until they were covering most of Connor’s mind. He shook his head to send the beast away and back at the bottom of the cave from where it came from but he only received a warning growl as a strong shudder rippled along his spine.

Warm hands swept over his shoulder and it was as if Markus was trying to flatten the creases on his dragon’s wings, wrinkled by years spent crumpled against its sleeping form. It purred contentedly, while Connor was trying to remember that it was only Markus being his tactile self, like he was with anyone he cared about. It had taken Connor several weeks to understand that, but now he knew. He’d seen him enough time with the rest of the band to realize that Markus was touching hands, shoulders and whatnot like other people suffered from verbal tics. This mundane touch meant nothing – nothing that deserved so many fantasies from his brain.

This hard truth did not stop his treacherous mind from serving him a full plate of steamy pictures Connor swallowed back as quickly as he could.

“I hope you didn’t buy this cello for me!”

“No.” Markus answered reassuringly while putting the kettle on. “It was collecting dust in a shabby shed at a friend’s place. I only brought to the luthier shop so he could restore it to its original beauty.”

“Thanks, you shouldn’t have bothered at my expense.”

Markus leaned back against the table, nonchalantly sipping his coffee while observing him carefully – too carefully.

“Don’t thank me.” Markus said at last. “This was act of pure selfishness from my part.”

“Why selfish?” Connor asked, perplex.

“Did you get my little post-it note?”

_For the pleasure of watching your fingers dance._

He looked down at said fingers with a frown. There was nothing special about them, apart from his pale skin and the slenderness of his fingers, their ends roughened by years of cello practice.

“You probably can’t see it.” Markus explained. “But you have a natural grace that is mesmerizing to observe.”

No. He could not see it. He felt awkward and out of place in most situations. Graceful was not an adjective he’d ever thought could apply to him.

“Come.” Markus invited him. “There is something I’d like to show you.”

The three of them went downstairs, him, Markus, and the old cello, and met with the rest of the band who was busy organizing and clearing the main stage for other groups to perform during the week. They all looked up and paused for a minute so they could greet him.

“Hey Connor!”

He still didn’t understand why Markus’ friend had adopted him so easily but he wasn’t stupid enough to complain about it. He returned Simons hug with a sincere smile before returning their greetings. He caught sight of a few sideway glances exchanged between North and Josh but before he could ask, they all cleared the rest of their belongings and arranged for a later meeting with Markus. Beer at eight was the last promise before they all left. He watched them go, longing to be allowed to meet them at the bar as well, but quickly discarded the idea with a sharp frown. There was no point in wishing for something impossible like this when he should be enjoying the present and the few minutes he still had left in Markus’ company.

“Look.”

Markus was pointing at the tailpiece of the old cello and Connor had to crouch as well so he could observe what was so particular about it.

“I asked my friend at the luthier shop if he could add a mic.”

“A microphone? What for?”

“So you could use this!”

Like a kid showing off his toy collection, Markus waved at a small device on the floor, a kind of sound mixer covered with bright buttons and square pedals aligned on the bottom half of it. It looked like a toy, a five key piano for kids to learn about farm animal, except it was almost completely black and Markus looked far too cheerful for it to be just a toy.

After a quick introduction of the device – a loop machine, or looper as Markus called it – and a short demonstration of what could be done with it, Connor had to admit he was starting to share his friend’s excitement.

“So it means that I can…”

“Yeeeessss!!”

If Markus had always looked like a Greek god before, he was now radiating with delight, his face surrounded by gold like a holy painting of a saint.

“Come on, try it!”

Obviously, Connor had far too little time to properly wrap his mind around the exercise of playing several voices looped on top of each other before the alarm on his phone interrupted him. His pitiful groan of disappointment was shared with Markus this time but no argument could change the hard reality: he had to put the bow aside, say goodbye to his friend and walk back home before Amanda could reproach him of being late.

“Same time, same place next week?”

The question had become a running gag between them and Connor didn’t fail to honour their ritual, asking for confirmation with a candid smile. He could already hear Detroit’s buzzing life behind the theatre’s heavy door, urging him to get going, but he was glued to the spot, waiting for Markus to answer.

As usual, in a way of cementing his promise, Markus always hugged him before seeing him off. Even though his personal dragon was blocking most of his brainpower, Connor had still managed to notice that Markus always tried to summarize their afternoon in this short embrace. The euphoria they shared when playing with the loop machine was condensed in a strong squeeze, Markus arms against his ribs forcing a strangled laugh out of Connor’s mouth. However, he quickly swallowed back his amusement when Markus’ hug reminded him of the beginning of their afternoon.

One last slap on the shoulder and Markus hands suddenly became bolder, more sensual. He felt them slide over his shoulder blades, his deltoids, biceps and then his wrists, finally capturing his limp fingers. Connor stared, frozen in place by surprise - and something else. He could not help but shudder when his dragon growled warningly under his ribs. Markus was looking closely at him, his mischievous smile firmly in place, when he finally answered.

“Same time, same place.”

Darker than usual but still piercing, the look Markus gave him haunted Connor for the rest of his travel home. He could feel slick wings pressing harder against the prison of his ribs at every step he took and the low rumble of his dragon kept whispering dark promises of delicious slaughters, of languorous flames and dripping lava. Its husky breath warmed his belly from inside but it was the memory of Markus’ agile fingers against his palms that threw his brain into the gutter for good.

_For the pleasure of watching your fingers dance._

The pleasure was obviously mutual and Connor struggled all evening to shake off Markus ghost of a touch, to stop picturing his hands sliding down against his skin as he showered, to stop picturing Markus’ tanned hands roaming over his body when he dressed for the night in front of the bathroom mirror. His brain managed to discard these sinful fantasies on the first night but his determination slimmed down day after day, until, the following weekend, all of his fantasies slipped from the sealed box at the back of his brain. His forehead pressed against the freezing tiles while his hands worked desperately on this persistent desire, he surrendered in a shameful moan.

Avoiding all eye contact with his manager, he went back to his bedroom to let his frustration out in a sharp curse. He wasn’t angry that he'd let his control slip in such a shameful way, but he was more annoyed by the fact that, instead of clearing away his libido for a few days at least, his release had only made things worse. He slid under the cover swearing that he'd never do anything so stupid again. While his personal version of Amanda approved his decision with a grunt, the growling protest at the bottom of his belly dragged him into a restless sleep, like an endless journey over an angry sea. Before long the waves crashing against his small boat turned into a sea of sweaty bodies sliding against each other, hands reaching out to drag him overboard and in the mass of hard, sleek muscles. The wave crashed around him, moaning and grunting in unison as fingers reached for his shoulders and his face – like the broken surf hitting his skin in little droplets.

When he woke up, is frustration reborn, Markus text was the first thing that came to his mind. He blindly grabbed his phone, copying his friend's words in a desperate echo. His thumb hit the send button before his sleepy brain could object.

**[I dreamt about your fingers.]**

However, once his brain came online and realized what he had just sent, Connor stifled a pitiful groan against his pillow. God, what had he done? His phone buzzed and it took him a few seconds to find the courage to pick up the device – as if it might explode in his face if he were ever to touch it again.

**[ ;p ]**

Markus did not comment or tease him on the subject but, when he welcomed Connor the following Wednesday, he did not hug him like he usually did. Instead, he grabbed his friend’s hand and bend very low with a wink before placing a playful kiss on his knuckles.

“Stop tormenting me, Markus.”

His friend straightened up at the accusation, a bright laugh exploding between them.

“And miss the chance to see you avert your deer-like eyes in such a sweet manner? No way!”

Feeling his cheeks turn a bright shade of red, Connor had no choice but to cover his face in his hands with a quiet moan. He ignored Markus’ growing amusement and let him lead the way inside the old theatre. He followed blindly, half pushed, half dragged by Markus who was holding him tightly against his flank, his laugh still resonating through the both of them.

The old cello was already waiting for him on stage and, once all traces of shame forgotten, Connor tried composing again. Seated at Connor’s feet, right next to the pedals of the loop machine, Markus fed him with new advices as they went. He took advantage of his position to help a few times with the pedals but before long, he left Connor fully in charge of his composing. It took him a few try-outs and failed attempts before he could get the subtlety of such a technique but he did get it enventually. All it took was for him to understand that he was playing the notes for himself, as a team made of his past and future self, anticipating his own melody and improving it with each loop.

The song [swelled up](https://youtu.be/2YNOJ3l8iEY?t=96), growing in complexity and passion until he stopped the looper and ended on a low and vibrating note, short breathed and bright eyed. His liquid spine all but collapsed against his chair’s backrest, and the hard surface behind him was the only thing that prevented him from falling back entirely. He swallowed hard, letting out a shuddering breath against the vertigo that slammed through him when his body suddenly felt too wide and too small at the same time.

A hand on his knee made him look down.

Completely silent at his feet, Markus was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“That was breathtakingly beautiful.” Markus murmured.

Had Markus spoken with his usual cheerful tone, the compliment would have automatically triggered Connor’s evasive reflex. He was used to his manager’s sharp remarks but compliments? He never knew how to deal with them, and even less so when they came from someone he knew and trusted. He was always overwhelmed by the war raging inside of him, the war between his own personal version of Amanda sneering down at his performance and the hot ball of emotion at being praised jumping in chest. Too weak to pick sides, his first reflex was to flee the battlefield. Like the sloppy soap sliding through wet fingers, he always discarded the compliment and changed the topic to neutral grounds.

This time however, nailed in place by Markus’ intense look, Connor did not dare to flee. He simply breathed out his quiet and sincere thanks.

“Is that one of Vivaldi’s work again?”

Connor plucked at the strings absentmindedly, listening to the dull notes in an attempt to anchor his mind in reality as his memories flooded his head like wild salmons swimming against the current. A bittersweet smile crept on his face at the memory of long-gone afternoons he used to spend listening to his parents in the living room. No, Vivaldi had nothing to do with the way his heart was stuttering in his chest.

“It’s a melody my mom used to play for me when she wanted me to settle down.”

“I see music is a family business. Do your parents live here in Detroit?”

“They’re buried there.” Connor whispered. “They died when I was 12. Their flight got caught in a storm when they were coming back from a concert they did in Europe.”

“Shit Connor, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was a long time ago.”

Time had worked its magic and closed his scars, and, despite the devastating pain he’d endured at the time, Connor was now considering is status as an orphan with a cold neutrality. Markus’ hand on his lap squeezed harder and Connor tucked his bow on the side so he could cover his friend’s fingers in a reassuring touch. He was fine. And in a way, had his parents survived, Connor would certainly never have met with Markus and this idea was simply unbearable. He confessed this realization in a quiet murmur.

Markus let out a short and strangled laugh before a tender smile pulled at his lips.

“I knew that somewhere under your deer-like innocence was hiding a paladin-priest with some damn sharp arrows.” His amused accusation was followed by a small whimper and Markus grabbed at his chest. “You got me. Straight in the heart.”

Ignoring Markus bright explosion of laughter when his face came alit with embarrassment, Connor gave his companion a hard push on the shoulder.

“If I am a priest, then you can only be the Devil to torment me with such persistence.”

Markus laughed harder, not objecting once to Connor’s allegation.

He probably already knew that it was useless to deny his obvious allegiance to Satan, nor the fact that is own essence was coming straight from hell, and that he was like hot lava moulded in the shape of a man – a fucking gorgeous man. Markus knew, and he even looked proud of that fact. Still smiling, he stood up with one smooth jump, his muscles working hard like a well-oiled machine – a machine that was simply fascinating to observe.

If he’d had to guess Markus’ line of work or hobby before knowing him, for sure Connor would have chosen something involving fighting. A job where every muscle was required to work efficiently, where Markus would have no choice but to look like a goddam Greek statue after two months on the job – firefighter maybe? Or a solider? He sure looked like one right now with his too tight t-shirt and his baggy trousers.

His t-shirt in particular did nothing to hide Markus’ well-defined muscles and Connor could not help but picture him on stage again, only dressed with his guitar and some low-cut jeans – if any.

A small chuckle pulled him back from his reverie.

“You promised me to convert me to Vivaldi’s greatness.” Markus reminded him. “Is there a song you could play to convince me of his undisputable superiority?”

Honouring on his own any song which required a full orchestra was not an easy task but Connor decided that he had to try, his mind fiercely set on showing to his friend how talented the Italian composer was. The alarm interrupted him before he could finish the full opus but something in Markus expression told him that he would not need much more persuasion before being completely charmed.

“Same time, same place?” Connor asked innocently while putting his cello away.

There, at the back of Markus’ improbable eyes, Connor caught a glimpse of a shadow – something sleek and hungry. It was gone before he could put his finger on his nature but the answering growl from deep within him froze him in place, struck by its intensity. Markus was the first to look away this time, a small smile pulling his lips sideway. The sudden need to taste the twisted line of his friend’s mouth almost made him stumble forward, only to jerk awake when Markus finally answered the question.

“Same time, same place.”

As expected, it did not take more than half an hour the following week for Markus to recognize Vivaldi’s genius and he was more than happy to see that even the smaller songs he cherished from his childhood received the same amazed look from his friend.

“Alright.” Markus said while sliding the lanyard of his guitar over his head. “Now it’s my turn!”

Leaning against his cello and pointedly ignoring the way Markus’ muscles flexed under his t-shirt, Connor watched as his friend was getting ready on stage. Once everything powered on, plugged in, and tuned, Markus tapped one of the pedal of the loop machine and started hitting the flanks of his guitar. The sound was dimmer than a real drum, but it was enough for Markus to build up his song over that simple beat. After a second tap of his foot, Markus switched back to the proper way to use a guitar and started the main melody with a few raspy notes.

Just as the previous times he watched him perform, Connor was amazed at Markus’ ability to use every cell of his body to transcend the music and make it alive with a passion that should not even be possible for mere mortals. A tip of his head, a flex of his knees and then his silky voice sprung out of his mouth like a wave landing its foam on a hot sandy beach. Connor stared as Markus’ body undulated like a snake trying to climb up the microphone stand and suddenly, the old cello was the only thing preventing from falling face first on the floor. 

He knew that song, he’d heard it several time on the radio, but performed like this? It was breathtakingly beautiful – so beautiful in fact that the studio version felt like a sacrilege in comparison with Markus minimalistic remake. Everything was perfect about it – and everything about Markus was perfect. Perfectly lascivious and lewd, corrected Amanda. But he didn’t care. This was fascinating to watch.

This afternoon and the picture of his friend’s performance haunted Connor for several days. However hard he tried, impious fantasies kept bubbling at the back of his mind like molten tar. The acrid smell was a constant companion, as was the fizzing noise and the intense pressure in his belly.

Markus had already warned him that he was even wilder during concert. Part of him could not imagine a more sinful performance without worrying about the police shutting down the concert hall for public display of indecency. Connor tried to picture it nonetheless.

His personal version of Amanda grinded her teeth in a reproving way when presented with the debauched performance that was playing in his head, but the flames of his libido swallowed her whole and kicked her screaming form and discarded her somewhere in a dark corner of his mind – silencing her for good. He groaned as relief swam through him like a stream of hot lava. His dragon answered in a similar way, the vibration rekindling his desire to witness Markus’ live performance in person.

Electrified by the music, Connor would push his way through the crowd until he’d reach the edge of the stage. There, at Markus feet, he would be able to enjoy the show – another lustful soul among the sea of sweaty bodies pulsing with the music.

He almost surrender one night. Alone in the confines of his bedroom, he suddenly felt like picturing the thing wasn’t enough anymore. He had to see. No studio song were available on any website but he easily tracked the band ‘Jericrew’ on YouTube. One thumbnail caught his attention. Some random fans had snapped a video with their phone during a concert and even if the quality of the video was horrendous thanks to the dim light, Markus’ silhouette was still recognizable. He looked like a marble statue on its pedestal, strong and proud.

Connor’s finger hovered over the thumbnail for what felt like hours. Every cell of his body ached to see the performance now, but settling for a shitty video was a bit sad. Part of him did not want to spoil him of the pleasure to discover the full extent of Markus’ passion for himself one day.

Like the moth pulled by the light, Connor’s eyes stayed glued to the blurry picture of his gorgeous friend for several minutes. However, his tired body eventually adjourned the debate and, stifling a yawn, Connor put his phone away and slid further under the covers. He closed his dry eyes with a sigh, repeating a reassuring mantra in his head.

One day - yes, one day soon - he’d be able to go and see Markus’ live performance.

From somewhere at the back of his mind, burnt but far from vanquished, Amanda scoffed at his newfound certainty. Two words dripping with sarcasm.

_Yeah, right._


	5. Because you're worth it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. we've finally reached the top of the rollercoster that is this fic. I hope you've enjoyed the sweet crescendo so far and that your seatbelt is fastened. Now it's time to raise your hands, look at the dark space that is opening at your feet, and scream 'weeeeeeee'! \o/  
> Hang on tight. it's a short chapter but it's getting dark pretty quick.

“Why are you so reluctant to sing for me?”

Connor could not repress a sigh at his friend’s question.

Markus had finally noticed.

Of course, he’d noticed the way his smile would disappear as soon as he was asked to sing, noticed the way his body became rigid, the way he suddenly froze for a few seconds so his brain could find a way out – find a way to escape this feeling of being cornered.

Because, he realized, the only one asking him to sing was his manager. It had been the case for several years now and Amanda had tainted the request with a sour taste that made him reel back with repulsion, like a kid, biting in a particularly bitter lemon. The simple fact of someone asking for a little song automatically brought pictures of disdainful snorts and dark echoes of her orders: now sing, now stand straighter, now lift up your chin and look at the audience…

He shook his head in a desperate attempt to silence that little voice but her ominous presence remained – unsurprisingly. He usually required a full orchestra to help him drown her insidious whispers and to forget the sting of her injunctions. Even then, it took several minutes for the violins to soothe his raw nerves and get rid of that anxious fear of disappointing her.

Hank was the only exception, he realized. Even without an orchestra, he could sing in front of the professor without feeling cornered as he felt now. He frowned, looking back at the dozens and dozens of times he’d sung for Hank. But no. He was never really singing for Hank, nor was he singing because Hank had asked him to. He was training, so he would not disappoint his manager. He was singing for Amanda, and Hank was only there as a spectator, a totem at the back of the tiny classroom, always there to stand between his sorry ass and Amanda.

However, Connor might have been enough of a coward to push Hank right in front of Amanda’s menacing path in order to get these two hours of spare time, but he categorically refused to even think about her when he was spending time with Markus.

Waiting patiently for him to answer, Markus was looking at him with a slightly worried look and Connor kicked his brain back into action so he could explain his distraught while leaving Amanda out of the picture.

“My voice is like a tool for my career that I have to sharpen day after day, after day. Sadly, singing has become synonym of work for me.

He had to pause for a few seconds so his brain could come up with a decent conclusion – without revealing too much.

_‘Every time I sing, the spiteful frown of the woman forcing this training upon me is burning itself at the back of my eyes, and I’d rather look at your delightful face all afternoon instead.’_

Nope.

_‘Thanks to my evil manager, I don’t enjoy singing anymore, and I would prefer our meeting to be exclusively reserved to laughter and mutual enjoyment.’_

Hell no.

_‘It’s a miracle that I’ve managed to get a few hours of free time and I’d very much like to spend them with you and try to forget about my working routine.’_

There you go. Not that complicated, was it?

Connor presented this explanation to his friend, but instead of an understanding nod or another joke, Markus adopted a sad pout – the perfect impression of a kid after learning that the end of the year school party was cancelled.

“But...”

With a perplexed frown, Connor anxiously waited for the end of that sentence. This wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting.

“But I’ve paid for this. With many delicious fries!”

It took a few seconds for his brain to realize that Markus was joking, but when it did catch up, Connor could not retain the amused laugh that burst out of his lips.

“They were far too greasy to be called delicious.” Connor sighed.

“I couldn’t hear you complaining at the time.”

The image of Markus licking his finger clean suddenly came back to his mind and he had to clench his finger hard to resist the absurd idea of presenting Markus with his fingers so he could witness, with first-hand experience, how hard his friend could suck slender things. His fingernails cut deep lines in the tender flesh of his palm but the pain did not help his brain to stay in line. Markus’ scorching stare was the last push that sent it tumbling down into the gutter – once more.

“Very well then.” Markus whimpered. “My heart bleeds at the idea that I might never hear your voice. But I’ll try to be strong.”

“I’m sorry.”

And he was sorry, really.

“Don’t sweat it. Seeing you smile is more important for me that hearing you sing.”

Touched by Markus’ confession, and his head suddenly light as a feather despite the heavy thoughts that had assailed him earlier, Connor looked away before his mouth could betray him and spill some of the thoughts that were swarming in his head. He left after his alarm reminded him of the time, like it always did, and right before he could reach the fresh air of Detroit, Markus grabbed him for their usual hug. He gave him a quick slap on the shoulder, a brief caress and then Markus' hand closed on the back of his neck, holding him in place so warm lips could plant a kiss on his temple.

“Take care of yourself, ok?”

His eloquence wiped away by the sudden kiss, Connor agreed in a strangled croak while his friend stepped back. A brief laugh, a languorous look and Markus disappeared inside Jericho, leaving him stunned, his skin burning like a sun-heated stone and his breath ragged as if he'd run a marathon.

It only took one stern look and an annoyed click of her tongue for Amanda to kill his bubbling mood. 

“Don’t use these private lessons as an excuse to stroll around Detroit more than necessary.”

He had admittedly taken his sweet time to come home, reaching the metro station with his head in the clouds and his mind still in front of Jericho, wishing he had stepped back inside the old theatre, grabbed Markus by the collar and reassured him that yes, yes he would take care of himself. And to do so, he would start by quenching that burning need and kiss him. The surprised look on Markus' face was clear in his mind – an image that made his body hum with the desire to go back and-

Someone had bumped quite angrily into his shoulder and, like that, the fantasy had dissolved, leaving him to realise that he was just standing there with a stupid expression on his face – and that we was late. Amanda received his mea culpa with a soft grunt, and while she accepted his excuses, Connor knew he was firing his last rounds while toeing a very dangerous line.

Despite knowing that he was stepping into a very slippery slope, leading him to a floor spiked with sharpened knives, Connor was helpless but to follow his fantasies there, dreamingly looking at the door of his classroom, wishing Markus could step in and save him from his boring life. Amanda would kill him if she learned about his daydreaming during class but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from that door. Eventually, his neighbour grunted warningly, a low growl that convinced him to look back at his teacher.

After several minutes of struggle, Connor managed to focus on the lesson. Feeling a bit guilty, he even wrote a few notes so he could look them up in the library later. He gathered his things at the end of the class, feeling quite proud that he'd managed to get back on tracks so easily. By the time he reached the door and trotted down the corridor, a victorious smile had made its way in his face. However, he'd hardly made it through the main hall when someone grabbed the strap of his bag and dragged him into a quiet corner. Before he could react, his assailant pushed him angrily against the wall and snarled in his face.

“Right. You're starting to piss me off you phcking faggot.”

Despite the angry look on his face, Connor recognised his aggressor straight away. He'd watched him often enough while looking longingly at the door of their classroom to recognize him anywhere. Even though they'd only exchanged sideway looks and annoyed grunts, Connor had quickly memorized his classmate’s name.

“What’s your phcking problem?” Gavin growled with a hard push. “You want a piece of me?”

“No I don't.” Connor stammered. “It's a misunderstanding.”

“What?” He snorted viciously. “You’re gonna tell me that it's a pure coincidence if you’ve been staring at me for the past few weeks? You're gagging for cock so badly that you're harassing the first guys you set your eyes on?”

“No I..”

His brain fumbled for arguments but something in his classmate’s look told him that there was no point in trying to argue. Gavin wasn’t bullying him with such spite to get answers. He was there to warn him off and vent some of his anger, that was all. Taking his silence as a confession, Gavin released him briskly, as if his clothes were suddenly burning his skin. He looked down at him, a disgusted frown on his face.

“Yeah, my ass.” Gavin spat. “I’m not interested alright? So get the phck away from me. And if I catch you staring at me again, I swear I’ll phcking break your nose – angel face or not.”

He pushed him one last time, a hard hit against his breast bone, which left Connor fighting for his next breath.

“Got it?”

“Yes.” Came Connor's shameful answer.

The shiny floor under his feet send him back a distorted reflection of his miserable form while he looked for some control over his breathing and his shaky legs. He blinked, clearing his blurry sight, only looking up when he heard the malicious laughs coming from Gavin’s friends when he joined then at the end of the corridor. Amanda’s spiteful whisper in his ear was like a slap.

_Pathetic._

He groaned, remembering her second favourite instruction.

Now chin up and walk!

Two more hours and he would be able to meet with Hank and that fact was the only thing that allowed him to hold it together. Stumbling in the next class, he still felt the need to send one text, like a bottle thrown into an angry sea – one desperate request for help.

**[Can't wait for Wednesday...]**

Markus’ answer came a few seconds later.

**[Same ;p ]**

However, Wednesday was still five days away and Gavin’s harsh words had hit him harder than he wanted to admit. Markus’ texts could hardly override the sneering words echoing in his head and it looked like they grew louder by the day. By the time Monday came, after a long weekend where he’d performed in a random city several hours away by plane, Connor could feel the fatigue dragging him down, as if his body and mind were physically attracted by the floor. Hank did not comment on his tired-looking face but he did look suspicious as Connor dropped his belongings next to his usual seat and started to unpack.

Ignoring his exhaustion, Connor laid down the scores Amanda had printed for him for the next concert and played the recording of the orchestra on his phone. He didn’t particularly liked Bach – too pompous, too formal – but Amanda would force one of Bach’s song upon him at least twice a year. He knew this one already but it didn’t save him from having to work it back on his tongue.

The organ played only [two solemn notes](https://youtu.be/tdLCcQixNvg?t=5) before violins stepped in, humming together the single line of the slow melody. With a throbbing regularity, the organist marked each beat with a simple eighth note, brief, dull, painful, like a stumbling step forward under a scorching sun. Sweat was dripping on his forehead and into his eyes while his tired body was imploring him to stop – to just _stop_. Connor swallowed back the queasiness and the sudden need he felt to lay down on the sandy floor and wait for his death.

The second sentence of the violins came to an end, prompting him to take one big breath before he could start his solo with one piercing ‘[Agnus Dei](https://youtu.be/tdLCcQixNvg?t=66)’. These two words, although short, were stretched over two bars, six beats that he counted easily thanks to the organ, which was still hammering its short notes and nailing him in place. 

Thoroughly minor from start to finish, Bach’s Mass was imposing a slow and stretched phrasing for most of the words, each syllable cut and modulated over several sorrowful notes – a desperate cry in the dark night, which the violins answered with melancholy. Imploring the forgiveness of a god that had forgotten him, Connor pleaded one last time before the first interlude. The violins mirrored the same mournful melody but it almost felt too much – or was it walking alone under that unforgiving sun that drained all his energy and made each note too heavy to bear?

His throat closing on each breath, Connor sang the second half of the piece with a heavy heart. The last part was a dissonant variation of the main theme and he struggled to get right. Sure, some of the sequences were hard to perform, but he found that his sight was becoming more and more blurry and by the time he reached the last bar, Connor could hardy read the notes anymore. He closed his eyes when the last supplication left his lips and, while the violins kept blowing hot sand in his face, Markus’ silhouette suddenly came to him over the distorted horizon of his mind.

The welcome sight sent a shudder up his spine, but the short sparkle of relief disappeared as soon as he opened his eyes, leaving him tangled in the sticky grasp of his melancholia. Bereft of all his energy, he looked through the old windows of the West wing with a sigh, staring unseeingly at the neighbouring buildings while his soul was slowly sinking into the sandy floor. 

“Connor?”

Bach had transported him so far away in that arid desert that Connor had completely forgotten about his friend. He blinked the mirage away.

Hank was sitting at their usual table, a few feet away, a dog-eared magazine laid in front of him while his lunch awaited, neatly packed next to Connor’s. The idea of eating anything suddenly made him nauseous. He stepped back, as if his eternal BLT had been replaced by a wild animal, growling its warning from inside the paper bag.

The rasping sound of a chair being pushed aside made him look back at his friend. Hank was observing him with a careful expression, looking almost concerned. That's when he remembered that his friend was still waiting for an answer - however his brain stalled after this realisation. While Connor was busy trying to reboot his brain, and swallow that ball of coal that was stuck in his throat, Hank came closer. Like a weathered horse whisper, the old professor stopped right in front of him, looking at him with a sad frown and attentive eyes.

Before he could ask why Hank was standing so close, Connor was captured into a forceful hug. Surprise seized his body but his protests were quickly silenced when his face was pressed into Hank’s shoulder and strong arms wrapped around his back. He was frozen on the spot, torn between the automatic reflex of soldiering his grief and discarding his friend’s support or to finally stop fighting. He leaned forward, opting for the second option with a sigh. His eyes closed on their own volition as Hank received his weight without so much as a grunt. He almost forgot how good it felt to be held by someone like this, bearing one’s load without saying anything.

He breathed in, and despite the cold cigarette smell clinging on his friend's shirt, Connor swore he could discern his father cologne there, and even his mother floral perfume. He squeezed harder, hugging Hank closer as much as he tried to keep the memory of his parents from slipping away – however bittersweet the memory was.

Time stopped and Connor couldn’t say how long they stayed like this, but Hank eventually pulled away and ruffled his hair in an strangely affectionate way.

Hank shrugged at his questioning look.

“You reminded me of my dog when he wants a hug. I couldn’t say no.”

He didn’t know Hank had a dog.

“Plus you really looked like you needed it. Come on, let’s eat.”

It took him several tasteless bites of his lunch and a few minutes of chatting with Hank about his dog before Connor could swallow without feeling sick. His melancholy was still there, leeching at the back of his skull, but it didn’t infuse all of his thoughts like it did before.

When he met with Markus the following Wednesday, his mood had improved to almost normal levels and a sincere smile crept on his face as soon as Jericho’s heavy door revealed his friend’s silhouette. Markus hugged him with force – his embrace lasting a bit longer than usual.

“Hank told me you’ve been feeling down earlier this week.” Markus told him. “Did the concert go wrong?”

“No, not at all.”

The concert had gone alright. It was a piece he knew by heart and had performed easily for years now. Despite this hollow feeling eating him from inside, he’d managed to give a perfect performance. However, he had not found the energy to join his manager in her courtesy and meaningless chats during the little cocktail party afterwards. Amanda had reproached him of being too quiet and boring but he found that, at the time, he didn’t give a rat’s arse about what other people thought. He already knew what everyone thought about him.

Gavin’s vicious words and the disgust placated on his face was a constant reminder of that, and the memory of that morning had fused with his own personal version of Amanda and muted into some kind of monstrous mouth that sucked all positive thoughts. Hank’s soft words and Markus radiating presence were the only thing keeping him from the edge of that massive black hole inside of him but he did not see them often enough to climb back the steep slope on the outer edge. Worse, instead of his friend helping hand, Amanda was always there, criticising his blank expression every time she saw him.

He discarded the memory of her disproving tsk with a small shake of his head.

“Aw Connor.”

Before he could ask the reason for Markus’ pitiful groan, Connor found himself captured in a forceful hug. He breathed in, savouring the cologne he could smell on the cotton pressed against his nose. He returned the embrace, his sloppy soap reflex killed in the egg by the basic need to find comfort.

Hank was the one who got him to spill his beans – again.

“Aw, Connor!” Hank voice was dripping with exasperated empathy. “You should have told me straight away about him! This little shit will see what happens when he bullies good lads for no good reason.”

“He had his reasons.” Connor argued while stepping between his friend and the door.

“Maybe he had reasons to be annoyed – and I’m hardly agreeing with that point. But he had no right to ambush you like this. I’m gonna explain a few things to him. I promise you this.”

“Please Hank.” Connor took another sideway step to prevent his friend from leaving the room. “While I appreciate the gesture, I think me being defended by a teacher will only make things worse and encourage his behaviour towards me. I’d prefer if we could put this in the past and never mention it again.”

Hank eventually settled down with a disapproving grunt, and like this, the subject was dropped.

That was, until Markus learned about it.

His angry rant was less vicious than Hank’s explosion of anger but Markus condemned Gavin's action with an equal passion. When he got his temper back in check, sighing in defeat, Markus pondered the facts for a few seconds before his face brightened with a sudden idea: they could always send North to punch that guy in the nuts!

The absurd offer made Connor laugh good-heartedly before he could catch himself.

“Don’t bother North on my account.”

“I’m suggesting that because I know she’d enjoy every second of it.”

The memory of North’s murdering look when he’d asked her for direction months ago came back to his mind and he could not help but smile. It was true that North had this wild cat attitude, always ready to pounce all claws out, and he was sure she would not hesitate one second when presented with the occasion to get at Gavin’s nuts – even without knowing what he’d done to Connor.

“Nah, don’t bother. It’s not worth the trouble.”

Seated quietly beside him in the old benches until now, Markus suddenly turned to face him and grabbed his hands.

“Connor, look at me.” Markus murmured with resolve.

Connor obeyed, slowly meeting Markus serious eyes.

“ _You_ are worth it. You hear me?”

While Amanda’s little voice scoffed at the back of his head, Connor nodded mechanically, a polite smile stretching his lips as he was considering his friend’s words. The scoff grew louder. He was just a pathetic looser, sneered the little voice. A looser who was not even capable of doing one performance that people remembered, even though Amanda was moving heaven and earth so he could get more opportunities to finally charm the audience and get famous – at last!

But, he _was_ trying! Connor pleaded silently. He was working just as hard as his manager. He was doing everything she asked, without complaining or contesting her orders: he rehearsed his songs diligently, he ran and swam every other day in order to improve is breath capacity, he didn’t drink, he didn’t smoke. And even with all these efforts, Amanda looked at him as if he was a talentless sloth and other people looked at him with anger or pity – or a little bit of both like Markus was doing right know.

Holding back a tired sigh, Connor looked down at their joined hands and the stark contrast his skin made against Markus' tanned fingers. His hands looked ghost-like in comparison and he could already imagine them dissolving in a smoky cloud of ethereal dust. Connor suddenly felt the need to do just that: disappear into thin air and be gone. He was just about to get free from his friend grip and flee when Markus stood up and invited him follow suit.

“Come.”

After a smooth jump over the nearby benches, Markus dragged him to the main stage where Simon, Josh and North were almost done setting up their gear for tonight’s rehearsal. Connor quickly spotted his cello, laid against the black wall, alone in the corner. Its baroque shape was looking out of place in the middle of all these electric instruments – a little bit like him.

With a short gesture of his hand, Markus invited Connor to pick up his instrument and to sit down on the foldable chair laid at the front of the stage.

“Sit.” Markus instructed. “There is something I’d like to try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have oversold the steepness of that metaphorical descent. but the rest is coming soon (hopefully. if real life doesn't interfere).  
> Shit is coming, and Connor is not ready. At all.  
> Thanks for the kudos and the kind comments. Love you guys ❤


	6. Oops I did it again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long T^T  
> And down we go.

_“There is something I’d like to try.”_

The thing Markus wanted to try was odd – to say the least – and Connor could not keep the puzzled frown off his face as he tried to suss out why Markus would want him to join their band. His frown still in place, Connor carefully picked his cello up and sat down as instructed – even if a small part of him still expected this whole idea to be a prank. He looked suspiciously at his friend, but Markus only smiled at him reassuringly before grabbing his guitar and powering on all necessary equipment.

At the back of the stage, North was already warming up on her bass guitar, plucking the strings as if they’d personally insulted her, while Josh was alternating between fast sequences on the snare drum and the cymbals. After one last reassuring look from Markus, Connor eventually followed suit and started tuning his cello as well.

Well, tried to. The general hubbub and the unusual noise made by his neighbours distracted him more than a hundred detuned violins playing around him.

Simon noticed his struggle at some point and started playing scales to give him a tuning reference. Even then, it took him a bit longer than usual and Connor would have felt ashamed if not for the sweet smile on Simon’s face or the happy energy coming from the rest of the group.

“We’ll start with ‘[I say love](https://youtu.be/6hV-UnrC9tU)’ Markus informed them. “Connor, don’t hesitate to jump in with your cello when you feel like it.”

Connor nodded slowly in agreement, even if, deep down, he sincerely believed that one note on his cello would screw the whole arrangement. Markus' confident expression helped him swallow back his unease – but just enough for him to refrain from fleeing the room. Playing was going to be another problem entirely.

“If you don’t see how to do this, don’t worry.” Markus reassured him. “We’ll play the song twice. It will be easier once you have the full song in mind.”

His instructions received a nod from the whole team and then.

“Three, four.”

Like a car starting under the ignition, all musicians started playing as one, instantly giving life to a throbbing melody. His synthesiser set on soft electric piano sound, Simon was in charge of the main melody, while the rest of the band played an upbeat chorus, which reminded Connor of a beating heart. After only a few seconds, Simon stopped his heady tune and Markus smoothly took over, his voice raspy with a mischievous emotion.

Connor could hardly make sense of the lyrics but he was fascinated by the way Markus’ tongue was lovingly closing over each consonants. Like warm waves licking at the feet of a sandy cliff, Markus was whispering secret words against the mic before stepping slightly back to punctuate his half sentence with a few electric notes on his guitar. He eventually stepped back further away from the mic and it was Simon’s turn to play the main melody once again.

After the second verse, Connor could honestly say that he really liked that heady tune Simon was playing on his synth. He hummed it quietly at the back of it throat so he could identify the notes and before he knew, his bow softly slid against the strings, mirroring Simon’s performance. Reluctant to overshadow Simon’s work and to disturb the other musicians with the unusual noise, Connor kept it as quiet as possible, playing mezzo piano. One could hardly make out the low hum of his cello but Markus noticed it straight away and turned towards him with a victorious smile.

Almost blinded by the brightness of that smile, Connor was helpless to do anything but to continue. He kept repeating the melody, even when Simon stopped so Markus could sing. When the song ended, Markus was buzzing with joy, like a kid on Christmas morning.

“That was perfect!” Markus shouted. “Simon, Connor, can you play that same part together again? And this time Connor, could you play a little louder?”

“But I will cover what Simon does!” Connor protested.

“Don’t worry Connor.” Simon reassured him. “I never found the synth to be very pertinent on that song anyway.”

Following Markus’ instruction was easier now that he knew that Simon wasn’t mad at him for stealing his part, however Connor still felt a bit like a cuckoo bird pushing his foster siblings out of the nest. As promised earlier, the whole band performed the song a second time, accommodating their new member as if he had always been part of the group. They tried several arrangements and by the time the last note died out, Connor felt like his body might burst with joy. He looked at Markus with a short, exhilarated laugh. They played the song a third time before moving to the next.

The following song started as smoothly as the previous one, but Connor couldn't find a way in for his cello this time. While his friends cheerfully played around him, he remained perfectly still, like a moth, surrounded by warm lights and unable to choose which one he'd rather follow. Although he was still eager to participate as he did before, Connor did not know how to add a cello line without ruining everything. He gently plucked at the strings instead, following the frenetic rhythm while his eyes settled on Markus, mesmerized by his playful performance.

Once again, Markus was swaying back and forth, coming close to the mic to whisper his lyrics before smoothly stepping back. The playful dance bought a smile to Connor’s face before he could suppress it.

And then all musicians suddenly stopped, Markus’ guitar was carelessly slid on the side of his hip and Markus came forward again, grabbing the mic with both hands – and Connor felt his smile drop at the bottom of his gut, like an incandescent stone thrown down the well of his libido.

Markus wasn't whispering anymore. No. He was begging, hanging tight to the mic like a tired alpinist on his lifeline, his fingers delicately curled around the mic's stem and his lips tightly pressed against the mesh in a hoarse prayer. His knees suddenly buckled under the weight of the song and Markus had to stretch his neck to whisper the last words, like a painful confession he needed to get off his chest.

Once his confession out, Markus tore his lips off the mic in a perfectly debauched fashion and all musicians, resumed playing as if they’d never stopped. Markus joined them in a stunning guitar solo before delivering the following verse. The final chorus left Connor speechless, and it was a miracle that he remembered to close his mouth before Markus turned to face him. 

“I'm sorry, Connor. This song wasn't really cello-friendly.” He apologized, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “The next one should be right up your street.”

He could only nod.

Half slumped against his cello, Connor was hanging tightly to the neck of his instrument, fearing that, if he'd uncoiled his fingers for one second, he'd fall on the floor in a liquid heap of infatuated goo. Markus turned around to face the rest of the band, ignoring or not noticing how feverish Connor was feeling right now. His next exhale was tight with relief. Maybe it was for the best. He wouldn’t know where to begin if Markus asked him if he was ok.

He wasn’t ok. But he was glad to feel that way – even if it didn’t make any sense.

“Let’s try 'in and out' guys.” Markus instructed. “Ready?”

In his current state and after Markus' earlier performance, the simple mention of the song’s title was enough to send his mind right into the gutter. He sucked a sharp breath as a bunch of indecent pictures splattered all over the inside of his head - pictures of sweaty bodies grinding against one another, flesh sliding in tight crevices. Slowly. In and out.

His trembling fingers almost dropped his bow when Josh hit the bass drum behind him and Connor swallowed a soft curse. Really, he ought to get it back together before he made a fool of himself. He held on onto his cello for a few seconds, taking measured breaths as the music grew around him, like a pulsing sea sluggishly growing to engulf him. The rhythm of that song was slower than the previous one, but it was definitely more intense. His spine strained under the throb and his finger twitched as the need to join the other musicians grew stronger.

Markus stood tall at the front of the stage, rocking slowly as if he was riding each wave of the song like a weathered sailor. His voice was tight with emotion, higher than his usual range and the lyrics wavered between a croaked lament and an invitation to join him on-board. Connor could only answer with a long slide of his bow on the strings, like a low horn piercing the silence in the middle of a thick white fog.

Markus mirrored his call with a sensual purr, and Connor couldn’t say if Markus was the captain of their ship encouraging him to continue or the siren splashing in the waters below and trying to seduce him. Clinging onto the ropes as the sea grew stronger, Connor decided that it was probably both and trusted his friend to take care of him in any case. He looked at his handsome captain, mesmerized by his poise and his lascivious confidence, and continued playing for him.

After several minutes of this journey, cradled by lazy waves, they eventually came ashore, their boat washing on a quiet beach. Connor delivered the last and final note – his cello humming a half-dissonant note as he threw the anchor overboard, gloriously exhausted.

Markus turned around and the smile he gave him was possibly the most beautiful thing Connor had seen in his life.

They tried several other songs after that and while Markus was obviously more excited about this exercise than anyone else, the rest of the band shared at least half of his excitement and participated to their brainstorming with an equal passion. All smiles sent in his direction were sincere and even North’s frowny face was angling towards approval. After another song that ended up in a joyful mess, jokes flew around him like sparrows on a sunny day and, while Simon was sputtering his defence after a very low jab from North, Connor could not help but to join them in their laughter.

His mood was sky-high, elated by the general euphoria and his chest was all puffed up by the satisfaction that his input made a difference, and that his opinion was taken into account as seriously as any member of the band. His laugh eventually died out, leaving him with the realization that he’d never experienced such a sense of belonging – even when singing with smaller orchestras.

“There’s a phone that keeps ringing over there. Does it belong to one of you?”

Her hair pulled in a messy ponytail, and her clothes covered with paint, a young woman was standing in front of the stage with her thumb pointing to the back of the room. Connor looked at her stained smock in confusion before noticing the rest of her group installed in the other corner of the theatre for what looked like an anatomy session. A thick fog of cigarette smoke surrounded the group of crouched artists and their naked model was looking like he was melting under the light like a tired statue – a statue who'd held the pose for too long already.

Connor looked at his watch.

21:37

Blood left his face so fast that his ears buzzed under the sudden pressure change. He jumped out his chair like a possessed man. This couldn’t be happening. He could not have lost track of time so badly. This was like giving Amanda all the ammunitions she needed – the planks, the nails and one big fucking hammer. She was going to crucify him on the spot, and she’d probably use all the extra nails elsewhere once she was done with his arms and legs. Boosted by this realisation, Connor teleported himself to the other side of the room where he’d left his coat and, in the inside pocket, his phone.

The 6pm alarm and all the reminders were piled up in the notification bar in a long list that he had to scroll twice to fully unveil. However long the list though, the missed call count was the only thing that caught his eyes. Nine calls and one single text from Amanda.

**[Where in God’s name are you?]**

His panicked brain failed to come up with a decent answer that would ease Amanda’s wrath and Connor quickly gave up the idea of finding one. He already had used the excuse of the metro breakdown too often when he’d been a few minutes late. But hours? Not even a suicide on the metro line could justify nearly three hours of delay and radio silence.

He was so dead.

Connor barely spared his friends a quick wave and a few excuses before he was out in the busy streets of Detroit. Zigzagging through the already intoxicated crowd, Connor ran as if all dogs from hell were chasing after him. A few outraged passers-by insulted him quite colourfully when he nearly bumped into them but Connor ignored them all. Their insults were like a light breeze against his skin in comparison with the storm that was awaiting him at home. He was sure Amanda was a type-4 hurricane by now.

Thanks to his regular cardio training, Connor reached the underground station in less than ten minutes, only to see his hope crushed to the ground as he looked up at the traffic info. Because of the off-peak schedule, the next train was still fifteen minutes away and he could do nothing about it except prowl anxiously on the platform. Most commuters stayed clear of him, and it's only when he caught his reflection in the glass of his carriage that he understood why. He was looking like a deranged man – but strangely enough, he could not bring himself to care.

When he reached their building, all windows were black and no light was filtering from underneath the front door. Connor breathed a sigh of relief while fumbling for his keys. Amanda had probably given up and gone to bed, leaving the coast clear for him to lock himself up in his bedroom and plan for his next move. The best he could do now was to get up a bit earlier tomorrow and go for a jog before Amanda would wake up. His dedication to his training would certainly balance his latest mishap. He knew perfectly well that this would not save him from a rain of reprimands, but he could always try to make amends to soften his sentence.

He opened the front door as quietly as he could, stepping blindly into their darkened flat. All lights were off, except for a small table lamp in the living room that Amanda had probably forgotten to turn off before going to bed – or so he hoped.

Except Amanda did not give up so easily nor did she forget to turn the lights off.

He barely had the time to lock the door again before the main light of the corridor was turned on, bright enough to make him squint – but not enough so he could not see Amanda marching towards him like a banshee, her hair untied and her nightdress floating around her like a creepy ghost from a cheap horror movie.

“You call that a time to come home!?”

She didn’t raise her voice more than normal conversation level but her tone was ice cold and leaving no space for doubt: she was furious.

“What’s your excuse this time? Mh?”

Before he could answer, she pushed him backwards, holding him flat against the door, her hand like a vice around his throat. He froze against her grip. Apart from the slap a few months back, Amanda had never been physically violent with him – and certainly not to this extent.

“No need to give me another of your lie. I don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to find the answer. You reek of tobacco and whorehouse smoke.”

“Amanda, I-”

“Shut you damn mouth!” Amanda roared angrily to his face. “Did I get your career plan wrong? Would you prefer me to sell your entertainment skills to the biggest bidder, like a geisha?”

She looked at him with a scornful expression, as if she was seeing him for the first time.

“Pale, doll-like skin and a face sweet as an angel. For sure, lending that innocent bundle to rich men would have been a far more profitable investment on my side. Is that what you want me to do? To find you a sugar daddy?”

“No!” He pleaded. “No.”

He struggled to argue further than this simple negation but the pressure on his throat grew more vicious, her fingers digging painfully into his skin.

“You think I enjoy all of this?” She spat. “Do you think I enjoy having to flirt with fat, fifty-something jerks so that you can perform with famous musicians, in big theatre, and finally make a name for yourself? It costs me every time I have to do it, and that’s how you thank me?”

He tried to reason with her again but opening his mouth only got him one sharp, revengeful slap across the face. She struck him so hard that he would have fell face first against the floor if not for the iron grip on his throat. It took him a few seconds for the dizziness to dissipate but the shock remained, leaving him frozen against the door, his vision blurry and his mouth slightly agape.

Still struggling to breathe properly, Connor simply laid his hand over Amanda’s angry fingers in a silent supplication. She could not decently crush his vocal cords in a fit of anger – surely, she had to see that.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, Amanda pulled back, releasing him briskly as if he was the most disgusting thing on Earth.

Free at last, Connor gasped two lungsful of rancid air as his legs wobbled dangerously under him. He leaned back against the door to keep them from buckling, and quickly gathered his wits so he could set the record straight and save what was left of his honour.

“I was rehearsing with musicians.” He croaked. “Nothing else.”

A cruel and derisive laugh was Amanda’s first answer.

“Yes. Of course you were.” She added, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“But it's true!”

Amanda’s next sneering remark was interrupted by a text alert from his phone and Connor instantly knew who that was. He bit his tongue to prevent the curse from leaving his lips at Markus unfortunate timing.

Her eyes taking a murderous shine, Amanda pointedly held her palm up and waited in silence. Not a word left her mouth, but Connor immediately understood her silent request. He complied and handed his phone, hoping she wouldn’t ask him to unlock it so she could look through all his previous messages. Since Markus latest text was fully available on his lock screen, his password wasn't required anyway. He only glimpsed a few words before Amanda confiscated the device.

He didn’t have to wait long before his manager decided to read the text out loud, her face distorted by disgust.

“From Markus: ‘I’ve spent a lovely evening in your company. I hope my silly requests have not worn you out and that you came back home safely. Sleep well.’ _Wink._ ”

She almost spat out that last word and Connor knew right away that Amanda was describing the smiley Markus sent him far too often – that same smiley Connor was so fond of.

“Worn out by silly requests eh?” Amanda snarled. “Do you think I am that stupid?”

“Musical requests Amanda, I swear!”

“ENOUGH!”

She suddenly raised her arm and this time Connor did not waste a second to protect his face, squeezing his eyes shut and raising his forearm in defence. It’s only the sharp sound of his phone crashing on the floor that made him open his eyes in surprise. The device bounced several times next to him, spreading bits and pieces of broken glass and components before sliding to the nearest corner. Connor did not have to press the start button to know that it was dead.

Amanda did not leave him the occasion to confirm his speculation anyway.

“Now go to your room before I do something I might regret.”

The low and dangerous tone of her voice effectively terminated their discussion and Connor picked up the mess on the floor and promptly retreated to his bedroom.

The wooden door was a solid weight against his back when his brain finally caught up with the events. He leaned back harder, his legs trembling and the dead weight of his phone in his hand almost dragging him to the floor. He looked at the shattered device as a dry sob painfully caught in his throat. He would have given anything to text Markus right now – to exchange a few words or a few smileys and pretend than none of this had just happened.

But he couldn’t anymore.

Unless.

Connor looked at his old laptop with a new interest. He could not text Markus anymore now that his phone and his entire contact list were gone, but he could still find him online. Ignoring the update requests, he booted the old laptop and promptly logged in on his old Facebook account before typing Markus' full name in the search bar. His research prompt came back with dozens of results but it only took him a few seconds to filter the different profiles. A picture of someone shirtless standing on a darkened stage suddenly caught his eyes and he hurryingly clicked on the link.

Bingo.

A few pictures of the media gallery loaded at the top of Markus’ page and that was all the confirmation Connor needed before clicking on the friend request button while swallowing a soft curse against his own stupidity. He should have sent the request ages ago. Then, he would not be sitting there, anxiously waiting for Markus to accept so they could chat once more.

He sent a short message with his request, just in case Markus would not see it immediately.

**{Hey Markus, it’s Connor.  
I’ve had a small incident with my phone. It’s dead, so no need to text me until I can get a replacement.  
In any case, thank you for today’s session with the band. And sorry I had to leave in such a hurry.  
Same time, same place next week?}**

And hopefully by that time, Connor would have a new phone with several alarms to remind him not to come home late and piss Amanda off.

Eventually, a cheerful ping made him jump back in front of his old computer, relief coursing through him like frozen acid.

**{Crap :( }  
{That’s not a good way to end such a lovely day.}**

He had no idea.

**{I should be the one thanking you. You opened so many new artistic paths for the band.}  
{Consider me fully converted to classical music ;) }**

**{A necessary evil}**

**{Now look who’s playing in Satan’s team! ;D}**

Connor tried to answer as normally as possible, even if his face was still too numb to come close to anything like a smile. He was glad Markus could not see his sad expression as he answered with a single cheerful smiley.

**{:D}**

**{I hope you’ll allow me to introduce you to pop-rock classics next week}  
{Same time, same place}**

**{Can’t wait…]**

Markus had replied almost instantly to all his previous messages. However, this last confession remained unread, even after a full minute. Connor frowned, slightly disappointed to see Markus abandoning him so quickly. It’s only when he refreshed the page that he understood. There, drawn in grey lines on a blank page, a cartoon-like tyrannosaurus was prompting him to check his internet connection or his firewall settings. A creeping intuition was already telling him that this was no internet incident, but Connor checked the relevant parameters nonetheless. Without surprise, his computer could not reach the Internet anymore and only his neighbour’s Wi-Fi networks appeared in the list of available networks.

Silently cursing his manager and her ruthlessness, Connor almost considered going out of his bedroom to turn the router back online before quickly discarding the idea. This was asking for more trouble that he could handle right now.

He crashed on his bed instead, his mind numb and his body aching in too many places. He rolled under the covers, ignoring the tingling sensation on his cheek, or the soreness of his abused throat. Swallowing a pitiful groan, he squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into his pillow, letting the cotton soak up his tears until sleep finally found him.

His morning routing remained unchanged, except for the fact that he tried to get ready as fast as he could – as a small token of good faith to ease his way back into Amanda’s good favours. Freshly showered and dressed with an old turtleneck that he miraculously found at the back of his wardrobe, Connor joined Amanda in the kitchen more that fifteen minutes before the usual time. Sadly, his first attempt at redemption went completely unnoticed.

Watching the morning news with a fresh cup of coffee, Amanda did not acknowledge his presence nor did she reply to his raspy ‘good morning’. She pointedly looked at the television, ignoring him as if one glance in his direction would be enough to rekindle her previous anger. A dark and murderous aura surrounded her and Connor knew that a vicious remark would be coming his way if he did not disappear right now. He gathered the rest of his things in silence, rustling quietly through the different cupboards and fleeing out of the flat like a mouse running away from a particularly hungry farm cat.

After four hours of class that his brain did not even bother to record, Connor eventually joined Hank in their usual room. His body felt like a string pulled too tight and, as the door closed behind him and Hank welcomed him with a warm smile, Connor felt it snap. He miraculously managed to stop his shoulders from slouching noticeably but a sigh of relief still let his lips before he could greet his friend with a sincere smile, which he hopped would not betray his inner turmoil.

“Hey Kiddo, what’s up with the turtleneck?” Hank asked instead. “I thought that it was forbidden by law since 2010.”

Knowing what type of shirts Hank owned, this comment felt a bit like the pot calling the kettle black but Connor discarded the idea of calling him out on that particular fact. It was true that fashion hadn’t been his top priority this morning. He had only checked that his collar was high enough to hide the dark prints of Amanda’s fingers on his neck, but he had not spared a second for the rest of his appearance.

“It’s just a bit cold outside.” He lied. “This type of collar is more efficient than a scarf to protect my throat from temperature changes, so…”

Running out of arguments – decent one at least – Connor turned around to set his things up and started working on his scales before Hank got the chance to question his excuse.

Amanda had not squeezed his throat hard enough to damage his vocal cords, but Connor quickly found that he was unable to perform as easily as he used to do. This song should have been like silk sliding on a polished surface. Instead, each note felt like singing with hundreds of little sea urchins stuck in the middle of his throat. He stopped halfway through, fearing that he would damage his voice by asking the organ too much. It was a good thing he knew that song already, but this meant that he would have to work harder once his throat was back to normal. He sat down next to Hank with a frustrated sigh.

After a few innocent questions, which only received monosyllabic answers, Hank gave up on the idea of starting a conversation and they shared the rest of their lunch in silence. However, Hank kept sending him sideway looks and his sandwich did not seem like the only thing he was ruminating at the time. Connor stood up as soon as he saw him open his mouth – effectively cutting the question off.

“Sorry I need to go. I’m going to be late.”

Showing no remorse nor shame after her slip in her ever-controlled attitude, Amanda kept treating him with the same disdainful look when he came back home – as if she could barely stand being in the same room as him. When he walked back in the living room, Amanda was just about to put her coat on.

“I meeting with some friends downtown. I need to calm my nerves with some good food – and good company.” She paused as an annoyed sneer crept back on her face. “But I want you in the living room when I come back.”

The look she gave him was unforgiving.

“You still have some explanation to give me.”

There was nothing left in the fridge for him to have a proper dinner on his own, however Amanda had laid a small tube of anti-inflammatory gel on the dining table with a small note for his attention. They could not afford to have him singing at less than one hundred percent of his capacities, so it was his top priority to get back to normal - and asap. Ignoring the accusations subtly written between the lines, Connor threw the little note away and brought the small tube to his bedroom. The cold bite of the gel felt deliciously nice and Connor massaged the tender flesh for long minutes before applying some more.

The dark and sticky veil that covered his every thought was left unaltered, but the massage did help with his physical pain at least. In a few days, things would be back to normal. Considering how late he had been the previous night, the retribution was quite reasonable. He only had to make amends to Amanda – I find a good explanation.

Her expression was of pure hearted when he eventually faced her later that night. Under her cold and hard look, he could only invoke an impromptu concert, from which Hank thought he could learn – something new to work on his rhythm problem from a different angle. His lie was close enough from the truth that he did not flinch when Amanda asked more and more questions. However, a guilty feeling grew heavier inside of his chest when he realized that his excuse was pointing Amanda's wrath in the direction of his friend.

“I appreciate that M. Anderson’s working methods are unconventional, but that's no reason for him to drag you out of your rightful path to mix with some punks.” She spat the last word with disgust and clicked her tongue before he could protest. “I’ll call him tomorrow to remind him that you are an opera artist and nothing else.”

She looked at him from head to toe before exhaling a tired sigh.

“Well, a soon to be opera artist – someday I hope.”

Connor ignored the familiar jab and tried to close the subject as smoothly as he could.

“I'll let him know that our lesson should stay strictly limited to the songs I need to perform.”

His raspy voice must have lacked conviction because Amanda promptly discarded his suggestion.

“I’ll do it myself. Yesterday’s events proved that you don't know what's good for your career and what's not. I have to step in once again.”

The idea of Hank suffering Amanda's full wrath made him cringe internally and Connor cursed his own stupidity. This morning, he had considered buying one of these cheap copy of a phone that were sold in little kiosks at the underground entrance but decided against it at the last minute. And now, thanks to his misplaced indecision, he was left with no ways to warn Hank and no arguments to make Amanda revise her judgment. He would have no choice but to buy one of these phones first thing in the morning, and hope that he could reach Hank before Amanda did.

What little money he had was spent at the first major metro station he jumped off and he tore the phone packaging open like a starving man opening a box of pizza. The SIM card he'd savaged from his old phone was inserted without hesitation and he bypassed most of the setup questions in order to warn Hank that he should not pick up if Amanda were to call him before lunchtime.

Despite the early hour, Hank answered him almost instantly.

**[What’s going on??]**

**[I’ll explain everything during lunch break]**

Suddenly very small under his friend dumbfounded look, Connor could feel his face burning with shame, as surely as if Amanda had marked his cheeks with branding irons.

“I'm sorry Hank. Really I – I didn’t know what else to say.” Connor stammered. “Please forgive me for always throwing you under the bus like this.”

He buried his face into his hands with a shameful groan, wishing the floor could open and swallow him whole.

“Hey Connor. Connor look at me.” Hank’s voice was a soft whisper as he gently pulled on Connor’s sleeve.

“Don't sweat it, Con. Your manager might seem like a three-headed, fire-spitting monster to a sweet boy like you but I’ve handled worse.”

Eventually, Connor peeled his hands off his face so he could send a doubtful look to his friend – an expression that Hank quickly wiped away by affectionately ruffling his hair.

“Don’t worry.”

Of course, Connor worried about it all day long – until he came back home.

He didn’t know exactly when his manager decided to call Hank or what she told him, but Amanda’s grumpy mood later that night suggested that she had not managed to get her way – for once. A warm bubble a satisfaction bloomed inside of him at the rare occurrence, but Connor made sure to keep that smug feeling well hidden in Amanda’s company. He sat down at the dinner table with a blank expression, humbly hunching down when Amanda reminded him of the basic rules he ought to follow if he wanted his career to go somewhere. Her mouth was twisted in a disdainful pout and her eyes so hard Connor could feel their weight on him like a lead cover. Reproaches and criticisms rained down on him for long minutes, leaving him numb and frozen to the bone. But at least, the table was a solid protection between them and Amanda was back to verbal attacks only. He was oddly glad of that fact despite the vicious bite of her words.

Thanks to Hank’s perseverance, Connor was graciously allowed to continue their private lessons every Wednesday afternoon. However, before she dismissed Connor for the evening, Amanda made sure to remind him one last time of the precarious situation he was in.

“Careful.” she growled warningly. “I won’t be as lenient next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why thank you Amanda! You are soo kind ... 
> 
> Luckily, Hank is still there to be the best dad ever.  
> Too bad he and Markus still have a giant blind stop when it comes to Connor's strange behavior...  
> Thank you guys for reading ❤❤


	7. Up and down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the delay :S Real life has been intense these past few weeks...  
> Again, the chapter is un-betaed. Please tell me if you spot any mistake or strange wording.  
> Enjoy!

In a weak attempt to alleviate his manager's foul mood and avoid any sneering remarks – or worse - Connor made sure to be on his best behaviour the following weeks. He was careful not to be late again, and consequently set all his alarms ten minutes forward – even that damn alarm that tore him away from Markus' company. He was also very careful to never use his new phone in front of Amanda and made sure to follow her instructions to the letter - like a blank, well behaved and diligent machine.

Unsurprisingly, all his efforts were completely un-acknowledged by his manager. She didn’t comment on his assiduity, nor did she give him any kind of praise or signs of approval. However, her eyes did soften after a few weeks and Connor cheered internally at that small victory, while keeping in mind that one should never trust still waters.

His hard work was paying off and despite the very strict routine he was following, Connor still had his two-hours of spare time with Markus to look forward to. When days felt like too much to bear, the short interlude with his friend was like a beacon in the bleakness of his existence – specially during the first few days when Amanda was still silently fuming. Eventually, Amanda calmed down and the new routine started to feel familiar enough for him to relax without fearing new reprimands from his manager. Of course, that's when Amanda chose to pull the rug from under his feet.

Still waters weren’t still anymore, they were sloshing angrily at his feet - and he watched in horror as the level grew higher by the minute.

“Don’t you see that it's perfect Connor?” she almost cried in her usual fake-victim way. “Even Elijah gave up on the idea to sing that part. That's a golden occasion to finally make a name for yourself! Three minutes, Connor, these are the most crucial minutes of your career.”

She paused, allowing her patronizing words to loom over Connor’s head while he read the score of Faure's requiem Amanda wanted him to sing. Indeed, ‘[Pie Jesu](https://youtu.be/BgTJ-Wsae4w)' didn’t last more than three or four minutes, but almost every note was overly high-pitched and difficult to reach, even by sopranos. He wasn't even sure his counter-tenor voice could go that high. His manager gave him a few minutes to assimilate most of the score before sitting down in front of him. The couch's soft leather squeaked under her weight and he knew without looking up which trump card Amanda was about to use.

“I'd move heaven and earth for this opportunity to stay available until you are ready.” She promised. “But you, Connor, can you vouch that you'll do your best to secure these three little minutes?”

Did he even have a choice? He only had three minutes of hard work when Amanda would probably spend hours on the phone and maybe even fly over there in order to convince the main conductor to hire him. While she did all the leg work, Connor could train a bit harder and try to match Amanda’s efforts for once.

“Yes, of course Amanda.”

The ghost of a satisfied smile passed on her face before she looked down at her phone.

“Good. I’ve sent you the proper score, a recording of the orchestra alone, and some examples of sopranos’ performances. I want this to be your top and only priority. I'll clear every two weekends off so you can have more time to prepare.”

The idea of not wasting all his weekends in transports and evening events felt like a cold breeze on a scorching hot day. Connor could hardly contain his relief.

And that is when Amanda chose to properly pull the rug in one sharp tug.

“Obviously, your rhythmic lessons are no longer critical. I’ll call M. Anderson tomorrow to end your private lessons with him.”

“NO!”

His objection left his chest in a gut-wrenching shout, like a fire monster fighting back and roaring in anger at the idea of being put back in its cage. If his shout took the both of them by surprise, Connor was quick to school his features back to a cool and detached expression while he mentally slapped himself for this very suspicious slip. He'd have to come up with a pretty good lie now to explain his desperation to hear his private lessons cancelled.

As Amanda was already raising her eyebrow, Connor urged his brain to start building the protective wall of his argumentation – and fast. He only needed to lay the foundations with a few bricks of truth, before adding small lies there and there. Hopefully by the time Connor was finished, Amanda would not notice these fake bricks.

“Professor Anderson has very unusual methods and he thinks differently than all my other teacher.” Connor started, almost tripping over his own words. “He sees things others don't and his particular expertise has often helped me to improve my performance on songs I thought I had mastered.”

He couldn't hold his manager's sceptical look any longer and he quickly looked down at his score, looking for more bricks.

“The part played by the orchestra during the singing bits is very minimalistic, and every word is modulated in a very complex way – more complicated than any other baroque song I've performed so far.” He said, trying to look as if he was going somewhere with his ranting. “With the issue of the very high pitch of the whole song, I think staying on time with the tempo will be my main problem.”

Amanda was still looking unconvinced but her face seems less suspicious. She nodded for him to continue.

“I believe that working with professor Anderson will be the key to success.”

He mentally stepped back to look at his handiwork, checking each brick while his manager mulled his argumentation over. Maybe he should have insisted on the technical difficulties of the piece. Now that he looked at the score again, each page seemed full of traps, variations, and impossible sequences. However, it was too late to add anything else, the wall was dry and Amanda was looking at it with too much attention.

“Very well then.” She eventually conceded. “But I want concrete results after each of your session with him. Or I’ll cancel them all. Is that understood?”

“Yes Amanda.”

This new deadline was going to impair his quality time with Markus, but at least they could still spend two hours together every week - even though Connor would have no choice but to sing in front of his friend. He couldn’t help but to feel a pang of disappointment at this idea. He had imagined that he would spontaneously choose to sing for his friend one day – not because Markus asked, not because Amanda forced him to train harder, but because he wanted to.

As usual, Amanda forced his hand he had no other choice but to swallow his disappointment and comply. The sooner he made peace with that fact, the better he would feel.

However, it was less easy to bring the news to Markus.

**[I won't be able to continue our little experiment with the band this week.]  
[There is a piece I need to rehearse most urgently.]**

**[Oh no! D:]  
[Will you still come to Jericho?]**

**[I wouldn’t miss our meeting for the world]**

**[:D]**

In a mad attempt to avoid spending their full session on his stupid rehearsing, Connor started to train immediately. When he wasn't humming the tune like a deranged fanatic mumbling psalms to himself, Connor was listening to every performance available of that song. The sopranos high-pitched voice sounded like the purest angel singing from some divine cloud. While he took note of the arrangement he preferred, Connor could hardly ignore the little voice that pointed out that his vocal cords could never produce anything that high.

He tried to sing it anyway – as if he had a choice – but he wasn’t stupid enough to fry his vocal cords by over-working the high-pitched song without intensive warm-ups. Sadly, this meant that he had less time to work on the song per se but he endured the extra scales like he endured all the rest.

When he met with Hank the following day, Connor had to apologize in advance. These weird and highly repetitive sounds could not be considered as pleasant by anyone. His friend waved a reassuring hand in his direction but Connor could see that he was slightly less relaxed than usual – or maybe he was just mirroring Connor’s frame of mind.

Connor quickly discarded the idea in order to rehearse the damn song. He had no time to waste. Over and over, he relentlessly tried to get the first few bars of the song right, but by the time Hank finished his lunch, Connor was still struggling with the first notes. When time came for him to go back to his class, Connor found that he’d made no progress at all.

He gathered his belongings, angrily shoving the stupid scores into his bag and fleeing the room before Hank could try to appease his nerve or nudge him into eating something. He was going nowhere and Amanda’s ultimatum was blinking brighter at the back of his head as the days went by.

Markus immediately noticed his gloomy mood that Wednesday and hugged him a little bit tighter.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m stuck on that damn song.” Connor grumbled almost petulantly.

Markus laughed quietly before guiding him into the main room.

“It happens to all of us. Even the best. Luckily for you, I have the perfect solution to help you.”

Connor watched carefully – and doubtfully – as Markus sat behind the synthesizer with a victorious smile. Markus sounded so sure about himself that Connor was already expecting this to be one of his joke – even though some part of him still hoped for the actual solution to all his troubles. Since Markus was looking at him expectantly, Connor had no other choice but to ask.

“And what would that perfect solution be?”

Markus' delighted answer came almost immediately.

“To have fun!”

_Have fun?!_

How could he have fun when so much was at stake? How could he laugh when every failure left him on the verge of screaming or clawing his eyes out? How could he enjoy these few hours of fun when he knew perfectly well that Amanda would take them away from him in the nearest future?

The idea wrenched a wet sigh out of his chest, leaving him suddenly empty and bereft of any will.

“Come on!” Markus chirped, his hands already playing basic chords on the synthesizer. “Repeat after me: ma ma ma ma ma ma maaaa.”

Markus’s request was only met with a long silence and a dubious look but the treatment did not deflate his ever cheerful mood. Worse even, Connor’s silence was like a fuel to his playful mind and he was quick to switch the synthesiser to a different setting. The organ sound was grotesque and the harpsichord was no better, but Markus kept repeating the warm-up routine, like a particular stubborn teacher. Weak before his friend mischievous smile, Connor only rolled his eyes before giving in. Facing his non-existent audience, Connor stood straight next the music stand and eventually sung after Markus’ instruction.

Despite the ridiculous sound setting of the instrument, Connor was surprisingly pleased to find that his companion was very thoughtful and efficient in his job to prepare him for his working session. The exercise kept evolving into different sounds, which progressively solicited each organ involved in singing – his vocal cords of course, but also his chest, his throat and his lips.

After about fifteen minutes of this thorough warm-up, Connor felt more confident about his friend’s capacity to help him with his current song constipation. But that was before Markus’ next instruction.

“I need you to remove your sweater for the next part.”

“I’m sorry what?”

Connor turned around so fast he almost tripped on his own feet. Surely he must have heard wrong.

“So you can breathe more easily.”

“I don’t see how getting naked can help me to breathe better.” He protested while stumbling half a step back and away from Markus.

“I’m only asking for your sweater.” Markus corrected him with a smile. “But I like the way you think.”

Markus was quick to add a playful wink and that’s when Connor realized in horror that one of his most indecent fantasy had been laid bare before his friend’s eyes. He immediately removed his sweater, using this as an excuse to avoid answering Markus’ taunt – and to hide his face, which he knew was red with embarrassment. He kept it pointed towards his feet, staring at a random dent into the wooden floor and paying no attention to the light chuckle of his friend when Markus took his sweater away and discarded it somewhere at the back of the stage.

“Now pull your shoulders down and breathe in through your nose.” Markus instructed while walking back to the stage. “Good. Breathe out through your mouth.”

His flush still abating, Connor complied. Compared to the previous exercises, this breathing session was kindergarten-easy. The struggle, however, was _real_. His eyes still fixed on the floor, he could still sense his friend circling him until he was standing right behind him, prowling on the stage like a panther, his silent presence more electric than ever. The need to turn around sent chills from his neck down but Connor stood perfectly still, forcing his lungs to keep a calm and measured pace. He closed his eyes again, fighting for some control.

Despite having his ears solely set on what was happening at his back, his brain slowly started to focus on slowing down his breathing as instructed. However, it all went down the drain as soon as scorching hands clasped his shoulder. While he managed to avoid jumping out of his skin in a very unmanly squeak, Connor could not refrain his lungs from exploding in one sharp inhale.

“There.” Markus whispered with a smile in his voice. “Like that.”

Two thumbs dug in the hollow of his shoulder blades as agile fingers manoeuvred his shoulders backward, straightening his position and flexing his spine into a delicate curve.

“Don’t forget to breathe.”

Easier said than done.

Air was like lava in his lungs. He could feel it burning its way inside of him, sliding down his throat, seeping into his lungs and filling every alveolus like wine-full pouches.

“And breathe out.”

Markus’s instruction was immediately followed by his hands, sliding down on Connor’s arms like two flints rasping against each other. The thin cotton of his long-sleeved t-shirt did nothing to protect his raw nerves from the sudden spark.

“Try and relax a bit. Let your arms sag more freely.”

Connor could not repress the derisive snort before calling his friend out on his highly contradictory actions.

“What you're doing right now is doing everything except helping me relax!”

Markus was lenient enough not to ask him for clarification, but he did laugh at Connor’s desperate protest.

“That’s because you’re holding back. Feel all that energy you’re holding up, feel that wave pulsing in your veins. Let it carry your body around.”

Oh he could feel it alright. He could feel the energy fizzing under his skin; feel that storm growling inside of him, feel the lighting striking his nerves hard enough to make him shiver with every breath. Yes, he could feel the raging surf hitting the bedrock of his decorum, leaping at every stone and threatening to make everything collapse for good. To jump in and let these angry waves carry him around, like Markus was suggesting, could only lead to drowning.

“Just picture yourself with springs in lieu of each of your joint.” Markus kept explaining. “let them move without restraint, use their bounce to inflate your lungs.”

He’d been wrong all along, Connor realised as Markus delicately grabbed his wrists, his friend wasn’t the devil incarnated, he was some kind of a daemon, half incubus, half mermaid. A mermaid that tried to lure him into the sharp reefs of his deepest fantasy. He let out a shaky breath before desperately trying to free his joints as requested.

Despite the stiffness of all his muscles, and the raw energy coursing through him, his body eventually complied with the exercise – and that’s when Markus decided to raise Connor’s wrist above his own head.

“Markus?” he squeaked as his body tensed - again.

“Let me guide your limbs for now.” Markus whispered, right next to his ear. “And breathe in.”

Connor had to close his eyes in a vain attempt to control the shiver that tore through him at the whispered order. He eventually obeyed, feeling a bit like a lifeless puppet being moved around for some strange show. As soon as Connor got a good lungful of air, Markus delicately brought his wrists back down until Connor could feel his fingers rasping against his hips. Air left his lungs in a quiet tremolo. 

Persevering in his delicious torture, Markus repeated the exercise over and over again, slowing the pace progressively. After the sixth time, Connor was amazed to see that his breathing and pulse had caught up with the slow pace imposed by his friend, and that the buzzing energy had given way to a peaceful hum.

He closed his eyes again, and let go completely, allowing Markus to control his body, like wind blowing leaves along the pavement. When Markus released his wrists, not only did his joints feel like springs but it was also like all his bones had been replaced with marshmallow. He was almost melting between Markus' fingers and his friend chuckled softly behind his back - a hoarse purr that comforted Connor in his belief that his friend had to have at least ten percent of panther DNA.

“Now sing.”

The instruction broke the easy silence between them like a whip. He nearly jumped at the sound, the sudden start solidifying his bones into a rigid calcium construction once again. He couldn’t help it. The two words where engraved in his mind and his treacherous brain did not miss the occasion to splatter the back of his head with various pictures of his manager and her scornful expression.

Still behind him, Markus could not see the grimace that had appeared on his face but Connor tried to school his features anyway. He was alone with Markus, he was in his soft and careful hands, hands that he could trust and would never whip him into obedience, slap him into submission – or strangle him while he was defenceless, the hardwood of their front door pressed against his back.

Everything was alright.

After a few seconds trying to arrange his scores on the music stand and looking for the right song on his phone, Connor played the recording of the orchestra. He let out a shaky breath, still trying to shake off the unpleasant memory of his manager’s commanding presence.

Markus put his hands back on Connor's shoulders, as a silent promise.

_I'm here._

The song started, and without any warning nor introduction to get into the proper mood, it was already time for him to sing. One full note from the organ was his only cue before he had to jump in. However diligent Connor was, it still felt like stepping into freezing waters, his body seizing at the idea that, should he fail to master this song, this might be the last session he would ever have with his friend before Amanda locked him up in a tower.

He didn’t reach the second bar before the rest of the orchestra made him realise that his reticence had not only squeezed his throat enough to make his voice sound like a strangled shriek but it also made him late on the tempo. He stopped the recording before starting the exercise again. Two more failed attempts had his anger spike in seconds, high enough to make him swear.

“Why did you stop again?” Markus asked. “It was perfect.”

“I was late on the tempo again.”

“No-one cares about tempo.”

“What-”

“You’re the one who should be setting the rhythm for the musicians.”

Connor turned around to face his friend, a confused frown on his face. Markus’ expression showed no sign of mirth nor malice, sign that he seriously meant his last sentence.

“I can't decently ask the all orchestra to adapt to my mistakes.” Connor objected.

“To be slightly off-beat, to make a note longer by a few twelfth, that's not a mistake, that's what gives colours to your performance. That's why people come to see live music, not to listen to the same version they already have on record.”

His own personal version of Amanda pulled out her sharpest fork at this affirmation and Connor could already smell burning torches coming from the angry mob stomping behind her in the morning fog. He had to be as faithful to the original scores as he could and only the conductor had the authority to deviate from it, in order to highlight what he deemed worth highlighting – but certainly not to make up for the lack of rigor of one singer.

“Whatever the style – rock, classical” Markus kept arguing. “The singer should be the king of that song and the rest of the music should be there to sublimate his voice.”

“That’s the opposite of everything I've always been taught.”

“Maybe you've only had bad teachers so far.”

Markus was watching his reaction like a hawk, his mismatched eyes bright with a sincere interest. Despite the opposition that was raging inside him, like a dangerous animal filing its claws on the inside of its cage, Connor could not find the force to challenge his friend assertion.

The problem wasn’t coming from his teacher. _He_ was the problem.

As always.

“Ok. Let’s try something else.” Markus interrupted. “Close your eyes.”

Connor was quick to obey, however the simple fact of closing his eyes did nothing to mitigate his scepticism or to silence Amanda’s perfidious remarks.

He felt two hands settle once again on his shoulders.

“I’m with you Connor.” Markus whispered. “I’m there, like the royal cloak draped over your shoulders.” His hands squeezed once before he continued. “Your sceptre is firmly clutched in your hand, your subjects are at your feet, their mind subdued by your greatness; their heart conquered by your kindness. You are their one and only monarch.”

Despite the sneering voice that scoffed at the image, Connor focussed on picturing what Markus was painting with such delicate strokes.

“Feel that pride puffing your chest.” Markus continued. “Feel the reciprocated affection from your subjects. Breathe in, and let the weight of your crown lift up your chin. You have a prayer you'd like to sing for them. To thank them for their love, to give them hope.”

Markus was rocking them gently, so slightly in fact, that it took Connor a few seconds before noticing. It's only when the swaying movement grew stronger, like the pendulum clock lazily marking each passing second, than he felt every organ buzz under the need to sing.

After one deep breath, Connor jumped back in, keeping in mind the beautiful picture described by his friend.

Markus probably ignored this, but the lyrics of Faure’s piece were quite appropriate for their improvised role-play. With a voice clear as mountain water, he implored Jesus, the pious, to offer salvation to his subjects, to offer a calm life to the old men he saw in the middle of the room in front of him, a life rich in adventure to the children hidden behind their mother’s worn skirts. His subjects were humble, but kind and sincere - never scheming, never mocking.

His eyes still closed, he recognized Markus’ band somewhere in the crowd. They were listening to his prayer with awe. And if the shadows at the back of the room certainly hid his manager's grimace, the distance, and the thick ermine on his shoulders kept him from feeling the slightest shiver. He was surrounded by his own kind. He was loved and supported, and it was an honour to have such an entourage. He sang his gratitude to them, his pious love glowing like an incandescent ball at the back of his throat.

When his prayer came to an end, Connor felt the religious silence of the whole room echo through him as if he had struck the nearby church’s bell with all his might. The vibrations wrenched a shiver from him and Connor opened his eyes to the main theatre hall with a trembling sigh. His subjects had all disappeared except for several passers-by who watched him curiously from the back of the room. A few seconds passed before they decided to applaud. He thanked them with a shy wave of his hand - the hand that had held his sceptre until then and was now empty and pale.

His crown too no longer rested on his scalp and he realized with horror that even his ermine cloak had disappeared from his shoulders, as had the reassuring weight of Markus’ hands. He turned around anxiously, dreading to find a gaping void behind him - or worse. To his relief, Markus was still there, motionless in the half-light, his eyes like two hot coals and his face frozen in an indecipherable expression.

“Markus?”

The strange expression on his friend’s face was suddenly wiped away by a candid smile, and Connor found himself trapped in a euphoric embrace before he had time to react. Markus stepped away quickly, capturing his face instead and forcing Connor’s attention solely on his mismatched eyes – as if Connor needed help to do that.

“You see?”

What did he want him to see, when he was completely blinded by his smile – a smile brighter than any summer sun? No, Connor couldn’t see anything. He was frozen on the spot, blinded by Markus’ glowing smile and by the heat radiating from him. Was that hellfire he could feel against his skin wherever Markus touched him? Was it Satan’s breath that was filling his chest and pushing him closer and closer to the edge of the forbidden cliff?

He was ready to stumble past the edge and off when Markus suddenly stepped back with a victorious laugh.

“I knew you could do it easily!”

If it was true that he’d managed to get all the notes out with maestro and while being perfectly in tune, he was still far from mastering the song. He still needed closer to the original tempo. Markus might be charmed by his high-pitched and angelic voice, but Amanda could not care less if his gifted voice wasn’t supported by more discipline. Perfection started and ended by being faithful to the original score. Period.

And she would never leave him alone until he had reached perfection.

Two little directing angels on his shoulders, one asking him to give in to his passion, the other one sternly asking for more rigor, Connor tried to perform the song again – and again. Always missing the beat there and then.

He could feel his frustration slowly climbing back up but one squeeze and the comforting weight of ermine on his shoulders was enough to help him through that hard edge and back to smoother grounds. Connor had rehearsed the song more than ten times when the blaring scream of his alarm interrupted them.

As usual, Markus walked them back to Jericho’s main entrance but it felt so much like being torn apart that Connor swore he could hear every cell of his body break under the tension when Markus opened the door and stepped back. A kiss on his temple did nothing to ease the impression that he was leaving a part of himself somewhere in the old theatre, but his friend’s lips, always pulled into a smile even against his skin, did bring some heat back into his face.

It was like a hitch at the back of his mind at first, a scratching feeling that he was naked under his ermine coat, hair pricking at his skin with each step. When he reached the entrance of the underground though, the itch felt like icy rain piercing through his skin. Everywhere he went, he was all alone, everywhere he looked, people were staring at him as if he was the most miserable thing. He closed his eyes, trying to hang on to the picture that Markus had created earlier and trying to go back to the throne room with his subjects. The memory of Markus’ reassuring presence was enough to keep the chill at bay – until he reached the door of their apartment.

Connor had long given up on the idea of figuring out how Amanda could look down at him while being shorter, but it didn’t mean that each occurrence was any less astounding.

“So?”

So. Had he fulfilled his part of the deal - at last? Had he reached the same level of investment as Amanda? Had he proven that he wasn’t a failure?

“I believe that in two or three weeks I should be able to master this piece.”

He would master it far sooner, but Amanda didn’t need to know that.

“Good.” Her praise was short-lived as usual. “The main conductor can audition you Saturday in ten days. That will be ok for you right?”

He had to hold back an exasperated sigh for being so naïve. He should have known that his manager would try to pull the rug from under his feet once again. Luckily for him, her attempt was unsuccessful, thanks to Markus’ silly exercises and perseverance. However, he could kiss any spare time goodbye now.

Amanda’s question was obviously rhetoric, as she wasn’t leaving him any other choice than ‘yes’, but his perpetual capitulation was still required. He agreed, as always.

“Yes Amanda.”

“Very well.” She clasped her hand in satisfaction. “After my meeting with him in New-York, I would have been very disappointed to have to call him back to cancel. He’s a very charming man you’ll see.”

Amanda appreciating someone after only one meeting was very rare and Connor would have raised at least one eyebrow if half of his brain wasn’t sulking over the fact that Amanda had managed to rob him of a perfect occasion to spend some time with Markus – without having to work his ass off at the same time. Anyways, his manager was already standing up. Their conversation was over and done – and so was he.

He went on with his usual routine that day, but everything felt strangely difficult. Every task was slowed down, his brain perpetually reminding him that he could be somewhere else, doing something else – if only he had the balls to get out of his cage. He swore he could feel chains around his wrists and he absentmindedly scratched at the soft skin before his brain caught up on the tic and stilled his hand.

He was just about to go to bed with heavy feet when his phone buzzed on the nightstand. His latent frustration was wiped away before he could even read Markus’ text.

**[Your voice still echoes in me. I can’t get it out of my head…]  
[Are you sure you weren’t a mermaid in another life?]**

Connor could hardly hold back a scoff. Look at the pot calling the kettle black now. Markus was luring him towards forbidden reefs for weeks now, and _he_ was the one calling him a mermaid? For sure, Markus must have confused Connor with his own reflexion at some point. No, he wasn’t a mermaid.

**[I thought I was a paladin-priest.]**

**[Both aren’t exclusive ;)]**

It was easy for him to imagine Markus’ mirroring expression, to picture the playful smile he kept sending in Connor’ direction, the same smile that never failed to make the dragon at the bottom of his belly purr. Each passing day seemed to make that image more powerful, and even the simple memory of Markus’ face was enough to send his mind spiralling down the gutter.

Standing on the edge of the cliff once again, Connor almost blamed Markus for tormenting him, but he didn’t type more than a few words before erasing the whole text. It was unfair to accuse him like this, when he was the one to get Connor out of his artistic constipation, within a few hours only.

**[In any case, thanks for your help this afternoon]**

Without Markus’ help, he would probably would have suffered Amanda’s sneering looks for days, powerless to do anything else but hunch his back under her vicious remarks, her cold stares and her disappointed grunts.

**[All the pleasure was mine.]**

Of course. It was a recurrent theme with Markus.

Pleasure.

Pleasure to watch Connor’s finger dance on his cello, the pleasure to listen to him sing.

Even if the concept was still heavy with guilt in his subconscious, and even if he still couldn’t see what Markus found sensual in watching him play, Connor wasn’t flinching at the idea anymore. A part of him even started to appreciate the persistent attention – to long for it even.

He couldn’t help but smile as his own personal version of Amanda chocked on her own spit in anger. She had always been prompt to set him back on track as soon as he looked _that_ way, mercilessly slapping away any train of thought she deemed inappropriate. But her little voice was hardly reaching his ears today, her tongue-clicking dimmed by the astronomical amount of indecent pictures piled on top of her head. The continuous purring of the dragon at the bottom of his belly was the last nail on her coffin and Connor found that he wasn’t sorry at all. Good riddance.

Like a pot-grown plant slowing growing roots in proper soil, under his new gardener’s care, Connor was growing fonder and fonder of Markus' unconventional methods. When he had jumped at every step of the exercise the previous week, Connor fought to hold back a contented sigh when Markus placed his hands back on his shoulders – as if his friend had clasped in place the last piece of the puzzle he'd been struggling to finish for years.

Burning hands slid down his arms like sun rays shining through tuffs of high grass, and the warm breath at the back of his neck reminded him of a sweet summer breeze. A satisfied sigh did leave his lips at that point. The cliff was still there at his feet, but the hellfire he believed he'd seen before was gone. Now he could only see clear waters, hear the quiet waves lapping against the edge of a small, forgotten cove, hidden at the heart of a wild and luscious forest.

Trusting his newfound guide with his life, Connor closed his eyes and laid back, his mind and body well determined to fully appreciate the journey through the jungle with Markus. A few oscillations were enough to liquefy his spine and the following breath brought him straight back to the throne room, his crown a reassuring weight on top of his head and his sceptre delicately pinched between his fingers. Lyrics rolled lovingly off his tongue as the orchestra swelled behind him and he swore he could feel the ermine shiver on his shoulders.

He prayed very hard for this moment to never end, but his parched throat forced them to take five before the end of the session.

“So, you’re meeting with the grand jury this coming weekend?”

“You present it as if I’m auditioning for a TV show.” Connor noted as he grabbed the water bottle Markus was handing over. “I’m only meeting with the chief conductor and maybe the artistic director. That’s all.”

Markus flopped on the seat next to him, emptying half of his bottle as if he had spent the all afternoon singing with Connor. Water trickled down his throat and Connor struggled to tear his eyes off of the offered skin before his friend brought his attention back on him.

“Connor.” Markus deadpanned after one long sigh. “You’re going to New York. You’ll be singing in a national theatre, _in New York_. Nothing you can say will rob me of the idea that you’ll get on stage, surrounded by pyrotechnics, with a cheering audience screaming your name while the jury is giving you a standing ovation – because WOW! How could they refuse the job to the most beautiful voice they’ve ever heard??”

Markus’ enthusiasm and compliment brought a timid smile on his face. However, Connor had no choice but to give his friend a hard shove on his shoulder when Markus started impersonating groupies, taking a very high-pitched tone and girly manners. When his attack was only met with higher screams of his name, Connor pushed harder.

Far from resisting, Markus fell backward on the next seat, his giggles dying as he brought a hand over his forehead.

“I’ve been touched by an angel.” He sighed. “I can die in peace.”

Something inside of him rejected that comparison almost straight away. An angel would be at the top of the game already, elevated by his own celestial essence, standing out from the mere mortal simply because of his divine aura. He wouldn’t need his manager to drag him constantly around, to make way for him and try to build a reputation between real, great singers. An angel wouldn’t be that much of a burden.

He shook his head to wipe away Amanda’s vicious words before they sent his mind spiralling down the dark pit of his latent self-loathe – but his throat was already closing on words and his vision darkening.

“You must confuse me with someone else.”

An angel would already be off, flying high above these dark and sticky thoughts and away from this morose life - away from this persistent melancholy that weighted on his mind as if he was trapped under an avalanche. The compacted snow was a deadly weight against his skin, an icy prison freezing his blood, blocking his every moves, his every breath. Only his distressed frustration remained, with that fundamental need to get out of there, the need to explode and send all his restraint to hell.

A sharp pain suddenly hit him in the dark, almost making him choke on his next breath and Connor was about to crumble when Markus jumped back to sit properly on his seat, a concerned frown on his face.

Shit.

Connor bit his tongue hard – very hard - to avoid swearing out loud, but he knew his face was betraying most of his panic. Once again, he'd let his attention slip and given the occasion for the raging black hole to pull him further into its cold and merciless embrace. Instead of enjoying his free time with Markus, and benefit from his warm aura, Connor had allowed his mind to drift away from Jericho, leaving his empty shell behind, cold, lifeless – and utterly unable to hold a normal conversation with his friend.

Maybe he didn't deserve to have a friend like Markus – a friend who sat there while Connor kept wasting his time when he wasn't standing him up.

The half question quickly turned into certainty – of course he didn't deserve Markus - and the taste of it was bitter enough to send him reeling out of his chair. Markus was just as quick to react however, and intercepted him before he could lift his sorry ass. He pressed Connor into a tight hug and started drawing reassuring circles over his shoulder blades. After receiving the same treatment from Hank a few days prior, Connor wasn’t dumb enough to ask Markus the reason for such a tight embrace. He knew that pity was the main reason he was getting yet another hug.

“Hank was right.” Markus whispered in the crook of his neck. “Sumo can’t compete with you in terms of puppy eyes.”

There you go.

Pity again.

Connor let out a long sigh into Markus’ shirt before taking a deep breath, allowing his friend’s perfume infuse into his lungs one last time before stepping out of the hug – and of Markus' life. Despite what his friend had assured him a few weeks back, he wasn’t worth it. What more was he bringing to his friends, except being a burden for them, a useless singer whose shell was crumbling away now that he was exposed to normal people and couldn’t get away from his growing anxiety? He realized now, how empty and useless he was and a part of him was regretting his decision of trying to get to know the real world outside of the routine set by Amanda.

Connor was about to get up and run back to his quiet apartment, when Markus suddenly broke their hug, pushed him backward and grabbed Connor’s face between his palms. Dozens of questions pressed at the back of his throat in an inarticulate ball of confusion that his mind failed to compute. He was held in place by Markus hands, pinned on the spot, mesmerized by the sheer amount of emotion shining in his friend’s mismatched eyes. After a few seconds of electric silence, Connor found half a neuron to ask his friend for the reason of that gesture, but Markus chose that exact time to cast his eyes downward on Connor's parted lips and all his thoughts vanished in one puff of hot air.

That was the only warning he got before Markus pressed his lips against his.

The kiss was over before Conor could realize. However, the contact was more than enough to shock him back into reality and thaw his frozen blood. Half dead under the weight of his melancholia until now, his hidden dragon was now well awake, spreading its wings in a surprised groan. A similar groan reached Connor’s mouth – albeit a bit more strangled.

Ok, maybe not pity then.

Markus leaned back a few inches, just enough to look him straight in the eyes again. There was only a thin rim of colours left around the dark pools of his pupils, but it was still the most beautiful set of eyes Connor had ever seen.

“Consider that as my wish-you-luck parting gift.” Markus whispered. “To remember me when you'll be in New York.”

Connor was still trapped, his face firmly held between his friend’s hands, deftly finger caressing his cheekbones – the delicate caress silencing him as effectively as if Markus still had his lips pressed on his. It felt as if he’s dreamed that kiss, but his skin still remembered the burn of Markus’ lips. It tingled, it burned, and when Markus’ tongue came into view, something dark inside him urged him to chase it, to seek its assistance to extinguish the burning sensation on his skin.

Although the temptation was strong enough to make him shiver, Connor found that he was unable to act on it. He couldn’t break the peace of that moment, not when Markus was looking at him with such affection, holding every dark though at bay with his bare hands. Gratitude swelled at the back of his chest like a wave turning into surf. His vocal cord didn't seem to work anymore, but he pushed through. He had to thank his friend from saving him again from that black hole of melancholy.

“Thank you.”

These words were so weak, so inadequate to convey the scorching ball of gratitude that burned his chest from within. He repeated them anyway, hoping that, even if these words couldn’t convey his gratitude by their quality, at least the raw quantity of it could.

“Thank you, Markus. Thank you.”

His friend must have heard the humble prayer behind his words, because his smile grew wider.

“You’re going to kill it, I’m sure.”

Even if he could bring himself to fully share his friends’ assurance in his success, Connor kept that assertion pinned to the back of his mind, the words printed in white letters, big enough so they could hide what laid in the darkness behind. He ignored the low rumble coming from there, as he ignored the cold wind blowing from under the large printout of Markus promise. Yes, he was going to kill it alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2020/11/18:  
> !! NOW KISS!! :3Ɛ: wait. That’s all??? T-T  
> Connor is still very emotional after Amanda’s outburst but luckily Markus is here to help and make sweet lo- oh what’s that coming over the horizon? Isn’t it the sweet music of drama?  
> See you there!  
> Thank you for reading so far ❤


	8. Creepy! Everything is super creepy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> /!\BEFORE YOU READ/!\  
> If you've suffered abuse in your past, and some particular topics can trigger you, please heed the updated tags before reading.  
> This is still mild except maybe for the 4 last paragraphs but I prefer to play it safe  
> In any case, I'll be there at the bottom of the page to offer free hugs.  
> Big thanks to Mermaidfinn for the beta read ❤❤❤❤

Connor had felt so small when they’d walked across the huge plaza. The opera house was standing tall in front of them with its wide row of high columns and improbable arches, white stone looming dozens of meters above their heads. It made Connor feel like an ant crawling inside a dollhouse. 

He'd felt small then, but it was far worse now that he was inside. He felt minuscule. No, even less than that. He now felt insignificant.

The room he was supposed to be auditioned in was so huge, most of Detroit apartment blocks could easily fit inside. Not many lights had been turned on for the occasion, probably to save a few years on the electrical equipment, but the dim light was enough for Connor to appreciate every detail of the concert hall. Up to the back of the room, dark velvet chairs sat in groups of fifty or more, covering every square meter like a sea of unmoving soldiers in a massive parade. Four balconies overlooked the main volume, and it looked like the army of velvet chairs was just as dense over there, the top row almost reaching to the richly decorated ceiling. Golden lines of plaster mouldings were spreading around the main chandelier, and Connor supposed the intricate design was there as much for looks as it was for the acoustics of the room.

Thick carpet muffled his steps as he hesitantly walked down one of the side isle and, as his unease grew more and more, Connor realized that the main conductor must have chosen that room as a test to see if he could stand feeling so small. The man was pushing him straight into deep waters, waiting to see whether he would drown under the stress or swim carelessly like a fish in the ocean.

Squashing down his growing anxiety, Connor mentally reassured himself. Amanda's training thankfully included a bit of swimming there and then, and her mantra was long since engraved in his mind.

_Now chin up and march forward._

A small group of people was waiting in the orchestra pit, chatting together while musicians were warming up and tuning their instruments on the main stage. Amanda walked past him and Connor followed quietly, trying his best to look completely at ease in this prestigious environment. Paying no mind to her protégé, Amanda cheerfully greeted a rather bulk man who Connor assumed to be the main conductor. His answering handshake was just as vigorous as Amanda’s greeting.

“Miss Stern.” He greeted her in a throaty chuckle. “I’m so glad that we can meet again. It would have been such a shame for me not to be able to spend more time in the company of such a delightfully perfect pitch.”

Amanda let out a small groan, hiding her gloating smile behind some fake embarrassment, which almost had Connor’s eyes rolling back at the back of their socket. He knew his manager well enough to know that she was too self-absorbed to be that modest. She greeted the rest of the jury and, after a second of silence, stepped aside.

Connor recognized his cue well before Amanda turned around. It was time for him to step into the light, like a promising yearling being shown around, circling the track once or twice before potential buyers could look at his mouth. He bowed respectfully, granting a polite smile to each member of the jury before his eye caught sight of the unmoving silhouette of the conductor.

The conductor, a forty-something man with fine and greasy hair, and a bit overweight, was frozen on the spot, eyes wide open and his mouth slightly ajar as if he’d been struck by lightning. Suddenly doubting the flawlessness of his appearance, Connor looked down at his shiny shoes. His trousers were neatly pressed, his fly closed – thank god – his shirt was properly buttoned up and his tie perfectly aligned. He looked fine – or so he hoped. Maybe he had something on his face that would justify such a surprised expression? He couldn’t find any reflecting object around him, but the last mirror he’d crossed had shown him nothing suspicious – nothing that could explain why the man was looking at him with such persistence.

The man stared at him for several more seconds before wetting his dry lips.

“You must be Connor.” The conductor guessed, already extending his callous hand in his direction. "Zlatko Andronikov.”

“That is me indeed.” Connor confirmed as he reached for the offered hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Zlatko was quick to capture his hand, clasping it firmly between his two hands before shaking it confidently.

“The pleasure is all mine.” The hand-shaking slowed at Zlatko’s confession, but the man’s grip didn’t flatter. “I can’t wait to see if your voice really matches that sweet face.”

Every muscle of his arm suddenly quivered under the desperate need to get his hand out of the moist prison of their handshake. He smiled politely while trying hard to keep his face straight and his arm lax. Connor really hoped that his façade was convincing enough.

“No need to make you wait longer then.” Amanda chirped. “Connor warmed up in the waiting room. He’s all yours.”

Amanda’s wording should not have bothered him so much, but it did, and Connor had to fight hard to keep his smile from falling as his unease grew. Knowing the contempt Amanda had for such shabby, pot-bellied kind of physique, Connor didn’t understand how she could be so cheerfully appreciative of Zlatko. He was famous, for sure – but still. She was acting as if they were long-time acquaintances – despite having only met once last month.

Part of him suddenly regretted not being there during their last meeting. He felt left out, and he was now dying to know what the two might have said to each other that could explain Amanda’s behaviour.

“Very well.” His hand was finally freed as Zlatko waved at the stage. “Go join the rest of the musicians. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Connor gave Zlatko an acknowledging nod before walking up on the stage to wait patiently behind his music stand. The music ensemble for the audition was minimalistic: a small digital organ, several violins and cellos, a flute and a bassoon. Connor took the time to thank each musician. After all, it was because of him if they could not enjoy a free Saturday. Most of them ignored his silent apology, too focused on tuning their instrument to notice.

Zlatko hauled his heavy weight up the three steps to his little platform, and Connor didn’t miss the strained grunt the man swallowed, even over the general hubbub of instruments being tuned. A sharp tap of his leading wand on the stand in front of him was enough for Zlatko to get the full attention of his musicians. He got them to rehearse a few bars at different points in the song, just to be sure they were ready for the next part – and then his full attention turned to Connor.

“Ready?”

Connor gave a curt nod and that was all the agreement Zlatko needed before he gave his musicians the attention count-down. At his command, the organist smashed the opening chord on his keyboard, which Zlatko measured precisely with each movement of his wand. From the corner of his eyes, Connor counted the regular oscillation, trying to picture Markus’ hand rocking him at the same pace. On the fifth beat, with his faithful subjects in front of him in the dimly-lit room and with his thick ermine coat over his shoulder, Connor sang.

Zlatko wasn’t anything more than a blurry shape in his peripheral vision but Connor could still feel his unwavering attention set solely on him. He tried his best to ignore the persistent stare, turning to face the jury instead, while marvelling at the fact that he wasn't off-beat yet despite his growing unease. His voice was loud, clear and pitch perfect; it was enough for now.

After a few bars of the song, right before the end of his first half, Connor’s brain eventually caught up.

It wasn’t pure luck if he was still on the beat. Zlatko was watching him closely, anticipating Connor’s every breath so he could adjust the main tempo of the song – and so Connor could sing more freely.

Stress left his body as if washed away by a wave and he could not help but shiver when the music swelled up behind him as the orchestra began the interlude.

Maybe he wasn’t a king, like Markus believed, but here, under Zlatko's watchful eye, Connor felt like a crowned prince.

Connor delicately turned the page of the scores set in front of him but it was more for the show than anything. After weeks of intensive training, he’d memorized each line of all the instruments, and a few notes from any violin were enough for him to pinpoint the exact bar number. He knew the song by heart; his mouth formed words effortlessly like psalms of a well-known prayer, his voice was pure and clear, leaving his lips as naturally as a calm and contented sigh. He was doing great.

Under Zlatko’s final instruction, the music died collegially, and Connor could not hold back the ecstatic smile that bloomed on his face at the sheer perfection of their performance. A quick look at the jury informed him that all members were just as chuffed as he was. Amanda looked pleased as well, her feral smile shining briefly in the dim light before she schooled her features. She was probably more pleased about her peers’ reaction than Connor’s performance but he took her satisfied expression as a compliment.

Zlatko was much more expressive in his appreciation, and his joyful shout almost made Connor Jump.

“Perfect! It was perfect!” Zlatko dismissed the rest of the musicians with a quick wave. “You can all go home; I have my countertenor.”

A wide hand clasped his shoulder and Connor found himself crushed into some kind of weird half side-hug that made him stumble forward. Still chuckling softly, Zlatko guided him down the stage, his arm thrown over Connor’s back and his hand still clutching his shoulder firmly.

“And to say that I would have missed that occasion to meet you if Kamski – that Prima Donna– had accepted the part.”

All members of the jury were climbing down the stairs as well, meeting Zlatko in the middle of the orchestra pit, followed closely by Amanda. When Zlatko finally released him to face his colleagues, it appeared to him very quickly that the jury had no say in the final decision to hire him or not. One of them was charged to draft his contract, another one to book an appointment for the photo shoot for the program. The other two members of the jury were simply not included in the conversation and did not object to the conductor’s orders – like silent and docile witnesses.

His task attribution done, Zlatko turned around to meet Amanda.

“Mrs Stern, you have to join me for dinner tonight. That’s the least I can do to repay you for this jewel you’re gifting me.”

“You’re the one who’s gifting Connor with a priceless opportunity.” Her fake embarrassment was back at full force but she was quick to jump on the offer. “However, I can’t decline an occasion to spend one whole evening listening to your musical wisdom.”

Dear lord, Amanda had swallowed a full jar of honey before coming here or what? It was the only way her words could possibly be so sweet.

“Leave your hotel’s address at the front desk; I’ll pick you up at 7pm.” Zlatko barely waited for Amanda to nod in acknowledgement before his full attention was back on him once again. “Connor, you’ll join us, will you?”

The idea of enduring an entire evening of that sort of sickly-sweet exchange between Zlatko and his manager was already giving him diabetes. Never mind if he were to miss important bits of conversation about himself or his career plan. In this particular case, Connor preferred ignorance. He was about to open his mouth to politely refuse, pretending that he didn’t want to interfere in their grown-up business, when Amanda interjected.

“Of course he will.” Her smile was sweet, almost as sweet as her eyes were full of malice. “Isn’t that right, Connor?”

As if he could do anything else but agree.

Amanda all but pushed him inside the bathroom as soon as they reached their hotel room, ordering him to clean up properly – and to do it quickly. He was too tired to object and showered as good and as fast as the Spartan bathroom allowed him to. When he walked out, a pile of fresh clothes, neatly folded on the foot of his bed, was already waiting for him. Connor could not help but frown in confusion. He had only brought one set of fancy clothes for the weekend: the one he had worn for the audition. He could not remember bringing a second set.

The satisfied look on Amanda’s face was enough to clear that mystery. Of course, she had planned everything – including dinner in good company.

“I hope the shirt will fit.” She mused before gathering her belongings and marching inside the bathroom. The door was almost fully closed when she remembered. “And for the love of god, please do something about your hair. It looks like some dried-out noodles.”

The charming compliment was all Amanda had to say before disappearing for good into the bathroom. Connor estimated that she would stay in there for at least thirty minutes: more than enough time for him to finish drying off and dress up. The old night-blue trousers were a comforting presence against his legs; the shirt, however, was another matter entirely. It wasn’t too small or too stiff that he couldn’t close the shirt, but it clung at his chest and arms in the most despiteful way. In addition, the slim cut was so perfectly adjusted to his silhouette, and the fabric so elastic, that it was just as revealing as if he was standing bare-chested in front of the mirror.

Ignoring the unpleasantness of his new second skin, Connor slipped his vest on, hoping to use the dark garment to hide what his white shirt wasn’t.

Except it didn’t help, at all.

He frowned in confusion before trying to pull it close again. It took him two more attempts before the evidence finally dawned on him: it wasn’t the same vest he had worn this afternoon. It was dark and just as smooth, but when his previous vest bore three wide buttons, this one was void of any ways to properly attach the two lapels together. And – even worse - four good inches of cloth were missing on each lapel, leaving a wide gap – a wide strip of nothing, which exposed his too tight shirt and his over-strained buttons. An exasperated sigh bubbled at the back of his throat but he swallowed it down, taking a few seconds to observe the extent of the damages.

He looked like some city model from a fashion magazine – someone far too metrosexual for his taste. Quickly tearing his eyes from the reflection, Connor ruffled through his travel case until his fingers closed on a tie. He looked further inside the case, looking for the second one he’d thrown in the case the day before, unsure of which colour he should use. None of them were wide enough to cover half of the gaping mouth of his vest, but it would at least help to cover his exposed belly.

After several try-outs, he eventually settled on the dark grey tie that he was just finishing tying into a simple knot when Amanda burst out of the bathroom, dressed-up like a lioness on the prowl. Their eyes locked in the mirror and, without surprise, Amanda's attention immediately zeroed in on the accessory that had been added without her permission. Despite the distance, Connor didn’t miss the repressed grunt of annoyance before she crossed the room in two vengeful strides.

“Let me see.”

Brushing his fingers away with a small slap, Amanda adjusted his tie with a pensive frown on her face. Before he could argue in favour of the accessory, the knot was tightened around his throat and he suddenly found himself thrown into the distant but still painful memory of their last altercation. He almost took a step back to escape this oppressive interaction, but a sharp tug on the end of his tie held him firmly in place. In any other context, he would have believed that Amanda simply wanted to clear out any remaining crease on his tie, but he strongly suspected that she was revelling in the idea of having him on a tight leash instead.

“Good idea.” Her smile confirmed his suspicion. “That addition works perfectly.”

An addition he was now regretting more than anything.

“But please, do something about your hair!”

His hair tamed and styled, they both waited patiently for the lobby steward to buzz them. The phone rang five minutes before the agreed time to inform them that their chauffeur was there and that fact alone explained what Amanda had found so charming about Zlatko after only one encounter. Like her, the man liked punctuality.

And like Amanda, Zlatko had dressed up for the occasion.

Zlatko’s hair was still a greasy mess and his vest still couldn’t contain all of his guts but he was looking more like a world-famous opera conductor than he had earlier that day. He looked confident, waiting on the other side of the lobby as if he owned the place. 

The dim light should have allowed them to approach the man discreetly for a few more yards, but Amanda’s loud, clicking heels and arrogant stride announced their arrival right away. Despite the distance, Connor didn’t miss the appreciative look on his face as Amanda marched seductively towards their host, nor did he miss the equally hungry look the man gave him. Connor pushed down the sudden wave of unease, and walked behind Amanda as naturally as he could, ignoring the persistent eyes set on him.

Zlatko’s tongue stuck out furtively to wet his lips, and the wave of discomfort came back at full force, crashing back in his guts and turning his unease into a visceral need to crawl back to his room – and now.

Thousands of excuses pressed at the back of his mind – he’d forgotten something in his room, he wasn’t feeling so great – while a simple truth clenched his guts like the crocodile’s jaw on the gazelle’s delicate neck: he didn’t want to go to that damn dinner. Before he could open his mouth to protest, Zlatko greeted them.

“Miss Stern, I have to say you look stunning in that dress!”

“I can return you the compliment Mr. Andronikov.” Amanda was beyond purring.

“Please, call me Zlatko.”

Just as Connor was fighting yet another urge to roll his eyes, the distant memory of an old TV program popped into his mind – one about insects and camouflage. Like the moth mimicking its favourite tree’s bark so it could almost disappear, Connor stepped sideway so he could stand in the shadow of his manager, next to a tall and dark column. If he stayed quiet and still, maybe they would leave him alone.

“Connor” Zlatko's low rumble shook him out of his delusion. “If you’d come at the audition dressed like this, we could have organized the photo shoot immediately for the program printouts. That’s a shame really.”

Yeah, what a shame. Connor would have loved for the ground to open beneath his feet right now so he could be swallowed and sent straight to hell but the marble floor of the lobby was just as solid as ever and refused to give him that way out. One could not always get what they wanted.

Amanda’s laugh popped the bubble of his reverie like a red-hot needle.

“Don’t worry. He’ll come back another time at your entire convenience.”

Zlatko agreed with a throaty chuckle before slapping Connor’s shoulder in a friendly pat. His wide hand squeezed once before sliding around, fat fingers crawling on his shoulder until they rested flat between his shoulder blades – a constant pressure guiding him towards the exit. A shudder tore through him at the contact but the more Connor tried to lengthen his stride, the more Zlatko quickened his pace, keeping his hand firmly set on his back until he could push him inside his sedan car.

Amanda and Zlatko quickly took place at the front of the car and Connor barely held a sigh of relief. He was alone at the back of the car and could therefore pretend not to hear the questions sent his way – because of traffic noise and distance obviously. In order to dissuade even further the two adults from including him in their conversation, Connor looked up through his side window, pretending to gaze up at the skyscrapers.

After ten minutes of unrelenting chat and boring landscape, Connor had to close his eyes as regrets rose at the back of his throat. He would have given anything to spend the evening chatting with Markus instead, cuddled under the covers, with a goofy smile stuck on his face. 

He’d sworn he would never risk using his new phone in Amanda’s company, but this was simply too much. He’d not had one minute to himself since the day before, and the need to reach out to Markus was making his finger physically itch. The conversation at the front of the car didn’t require his input for now, so he gave in to the temptation and discretely pulled out his phone, screen brightness set to minimum and sounds still deactivated.

He’d received two messages of good luck in the morning, a few hours before his audition. One came from Hank, the other one from Markus. Only Markus had sent a second text later in the afternoon.

**[So?]**

One quick look at the two other occupants of the car gave him enough reassurance to type a short answer. Despite that unnerving impression that he was some kind of exotic good being hassled on some dubious trading market, Connor was still quite chuffed about today’s performance. He was proud that he’d got that part so easily, and that the great and famous Zlatko Andronikov seems delighted to be working with him. This collaboration would certainly boost his career at last, and Amanda might stop pestering him about everything. This perspective brought a quick smile on his face – a smile that he shared with Markus once again.

**[They'll send me the contract during the coming week :D]**

Connor barely spared a second to check for spelling mistakes before hitting ‘send’ and hiding his phone between his knees. He kept it there, hoping to feel an answering buzz, until the car came to a halt in front of the restaurant. Markus had not answered but Connor assumed his friend was probably busy preparing their evening concert. As Zlatko turned off the ignition, and Amanda stepped out of the car, Connor had no other choice but to face the hard truth: he’d have to survive this evening alone, without any emotional boost from his friend.

The name echoed in his head with a quizzical tone.

Friend?

Every time the question popped up in his mind, Connor could not help his fingers from worrying at his lips. This time was no exception, and the touch brought memories back as if they’d been engraved on the delicate skin.

After another rehearsal of Faure’s requiem that day, Markus had walked him out of Jericho as he always did and given Connor the usual hug, but no additional kiss had been dropped on his lips. A mix of confusion, fear and disappointment had filled his mind since then and Connor couldn’t say how he really felt about that – or what he was supposed to make of that single random kiss. Was that damn kiss yet another tactile quirk of Markus’ personality he’d never witnessed before? Hank suggested that Detroit’s artists often lived quite promiscuously but he couldn’t picture Markus kissing all his friends like this. Or was he missing something out?

Something else growled dangerously at the back of his mind at the idea of Markus kissing other people, and Connor looked curiously at that spiky ball of jealousy. He watched it hiss and spit for a few seconds before discarding it. The fuming monster fell at the bottom of his stomach, grumbling his spite in concert with the sleepy dragon he found there – the same dragon that always urged him to reach for something he couldn’t have. He could not afford to listen to any of them. At least not yet.

Cold air hit him as his door was suddenly torn open, and Connor almost jumped in surprise as Amanda's towering silhouette appeared next to him. She was making tremendous efforts to keep a friendly expression but Connor was sitting close enough to feel the warmth of her anger irradiating from her whole body.

“Well then?” her question was dripping with fake surprise and worry. “Are you going to spend the evening day-dreaming in the car?”

He was dying to say yes.

“Of course not. Sorry, Amanda.” Connor apologized instead.

Eventually, he got out of the car in one smooth jump, avoiding Amanda's unforgiving grip by a hair width. Without that jump, he knew his manager would have caught his arm and dragged him up to the restaurant, her fingernails digging into the soft flesh above his elbow to show him how angry she was.

This was Amanda’s new technique. She’d been using it more and more these past few weeks, like a new insidious way to reaffirm her authority on him, after he’d stepped out of line almost two months ago. A permanent bruise marked his skin on each arm, and Amanda never missed the occasion to maintain its shape, colour and pain level. She was using every excuse to grab him – to move him out of her way so she could reach the drawer he was blocking, to request his attention on a random subject or to drag him to a different part of the flat in order to show him some random but so very urgent thing.

From the other side of the car, Zlatko was observing the exchange with an amused smile and Connor promised himself to keep his distance with both of them. His bruise was still sore from the new thumb imprint Amanda had left when she’d thrown him into the bathroom earlier, and his shirt was clinging at his skin far too much already. He didn’t need any additional pressure, like the insistent touch of the old man or his manager’s vengeful claws.

While maintaining his distances as subtly as he could, Connor followed the two adults through the dimly lit restaurant. Red velvet drapes hung from the exposed structure of the ceiling, while the thick carpet muffled their steps as they walked in. The room was full of customers, but the activity did little to disturb the quiet feeling of the room, leaving Connor with only one amazed conclusion: the acoustic was mastered beyond anything he’d even seen. He also realized that this little quirk was certainly why Zlatko had made a reservation here.

Their table was in an even quieter corner of the restaurant, in a small padded alcove formed by a single semi-circular bench, and a round table. Even before their waitress waved for them to sit down, Connor’s brain had already spotted the perfect seat for the evening: on the very side of the bench, facing the entrance of the restaurant. From that spot, he could see anyone coming their way and he was free to excuse himself and flee in case of emergency. He sat down on the plush cushion of his perfect seat – only to see Amanda waiting on the side of the bench next to him as a silent request for him to move further down the bench. He silently shuffled away until he was sitting at the back of the alcove, stuck between Amanda and Zlatko.

The crocodile closed its powerful jaw on its prey once again, and Connor fought to keep a straight face as the gazelle whimpered in agony. Shivers ran down his neck as Connor swore he could feel the gazelle’s warm blood trickling down his spine as it died – and with it any hope of escaping. The waitress who’d brought them to their table was detailing the menu in length but her little presentation went straight over Connor’s head, the cheerful words blown away by a constant ringing in his ears, like a panicked scream urging him to leave – to flee before Zlatko’s attention would rest solely on him again.

For now, Zlatko was talking to the waitress, ordering a bottle of champagne to celebrate Connor’s new contract. He also gave her the instruction to be quick about it, so they could look at the menu while enjoying the sweet bubbles. Amanda protested, but her objection was just as empty as her attitude was sweet. She still leaned over the table for emphasis.

“That’s too much Mr. Andronikov!”

“Please call me Zlatko.” He corrected her with a smug smile. “And I insist. It’s my pleasure to celebrate this new collaboration with some champagne. I’m just as excited as you to see Connor join our opera.” He carefully placed the red napkin on his lap before adding. “The emergency was to replace Kamski for our tour, but Connor’s angelic voice is giving me new ideas for so many other baroque operas.”

He looked at Connor pensively.

“Yes. I do believe we can highlight your voice in the most exquisite ways.”

Like he’d done earlier that day, Zlatko was looking at Connor with an unwavering attention, scrutinizing his movement and posture to anticipate his next move, like the dog watching a particularly interesting sheep. Something about that image brought back Markus’ word to his mind and Connor took the opportunity to lead the conversation away from him and onto something more technical.

“I could not help but notice that you were paying great attention to my breathing while conducting. Is that something you do with all singers?”

“Any conductor needs to pay attention to their soloist.” Zlatko answered with a shrug. “Of course my attention can vary. Someone like Kamski is like the flame of a gas cooker: perfectly accurate, efficient and reliable. He doesn’t need much care – and there is no surprise anywhere in his performance.” Zlatko’s smile was almost fond as he added. “But you, on the other hand, you’re like a candle flame, mesmerising, elegant, with delicate jolts of light that make shadows dance on the walls.”

Connor was struck silent, eyebrows slightly raised at the surprisingly poetic metaphor. Lost in his explanation, Zlatko didn’t notice nor take offence of his surprise and kept giving his insight on the subject.

“Anticipating the direction of such a delicate flame is much harder though. Hence my persistent stare.” Zlatko explained with a pensive frown. “I hope it wasn’t too disturbing for you.”

He remembered Zlatko’s insistent stare being like an army of sticky spiders, hundreds of tiny legs raising shivers of disgust down his limbs at each passing second. However, now that Zlatko had exposed his professional devotion to his soloist, Connor couldn’t decently confess that he’d misread the situation and taken Zlatko for some kind of predator. The truth would be far too insulting.

“No, of course not.” He lied.

His face was of pure innocence but Zlatko’s chuckle wiped all the confidence he had in his façade.

“Amanda, your protégé’s candour is the most refreshing thing. It’s a pure delight.”

“That’s one of his main traits.” Amanda agreed. “But Connor has many other delightful qualities.”

Connor had to close his eyes to hide his frustration - and barely contained eye-roll. He was once again the centre of the conversation thanks to Amanda. Except it didn’t feel like a conversation anymore. It was like hitting a tennis ball again and again, only to find out that it was tied to the strongest elastic. In consequence, the harder he hit the damn ball, the faster it came back on him. His mind was already trying to find a way around this problem when the waitress came back with a magnum-sized bottle of champagne.

Thankfully for him, Zlatko was too eager to pop the cork off and taste the offered bubbles to notice Amanda’s not so subtle bait. Connor grabbed his bubbly glass with a victorious smile. The timing of their waitress was impeccable. If he’d had any money with him, he would have given her all of it.

“Cheers!”

Glass clinked as they toasted Connor’s new contract and their potential future collaborations, but none of them drank more than a few sips before shifting their attention on the menu. Unsurprisingly, the menu suffered from the usual disease that raged among high-end restaurants whose owner tried to justify the price of each dish with a falsely poetic description that did not tell anything about the ingredients used. Connor scoured the first few pages of the menu for a decent dish, but none of the convoluted titles managed to tempt his empty stomach. He eventually opted for a revisited classic, hoping that part of the original recipe would at least be preserved in this posh version. As he went to close the menu and patiently wait for the two elders to do the same, something brushed against his ankle.

If Connor refrained from visibly jumping out of his seat, he was quick to bring all his limbs back under him with a little gasp, like the tortoise finding refuge inside its shell.

“Pardon me.” Came Zlatko soft apology. “I thought it was the table leg.”

Connor meant to discard the apology but words refused to come out as his throat collapsed, crushed under the iron grip of his most basic instincts urging him to flee. 

“It’s alright.” He squeaked. “I was sprawled more than necessary I guess.”

If not for Zlatko’s presence, Connor knew Amanda would have scolded him properly about his bad posture, but she only clicked her tongue disapprovingly before folding her menu and placing it on the table. Zlatko chuckled softly before setting his menu on the table as well.

Once their order was placed, Connor found that, however hard he tried to veer the conversation away from him, it inexorably circled back on him and his career. He watched their waitress leave with a pleading look on his face, silently begging her to spend the night explaining in length the subtleties of each dish of the menu. She left without paying attention to him nor his silent request and Connor was left with no other option but to relentlessly hit that damn ball. He tried to learn more about Zlatko’s own career, his education, the opportunities that led him to become a world-famous conductor, but Amanda always managed to bring the spotlight back on him.

It’s only when their dish arrived that Connor was allowed to catch a break, as it was very rude to speak with a mouth full. That is why he was very careful to chew as slowly as humanly possible while taking very little bites of his dish. When questions were shot his way once again, Connor made sure to chew every last atom of food before answering. He even took the time to rinse his mouth, using his glass of wine as a perfect excuse to stall the conversation and dissuade them from asking any other question. 

His new trick seemed to be working quite well. It sure made Amanda boil in silent anger as she waited for him to be done and answer the damn question. After the third or fourth time, she gave up and answered Zlatko’s question for him. When Connor eventually cleared his plate off, he leaned back to sip his glass of wine instead. The wide glass was perfect to hide his victorious smile.

As his vision began to blur half an hour later, a concerned little voice raised a point at the back of his brain. However good his little trick was working, this could not be a long-term solution – and maybe not the best idea after all.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Amanda chirped as she stood up. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Confusion swelled in his chest as he watched Amanda leave the table. It took him a few seconds before realizing that she was simply going to use the bathroom. Zlatko offered an agreeing smile to Amanda, before reaching for his glass of wine. He was still smiling as he took a few sips of the dark beverage.

Zlatko had stopped staring at him about halfway through dinner and, after several confessions about his career and how he considered his job as a conductor, Connor found the man more pleasant by the hour. Well, maybe ‘pleasant’ was a strong word. Less repulsive at least. Also, Connor’s little trick to avoid answering questions and participating in the main conversation did help him feel more relaxed. The constant buzz of alcohol in his blood was cloaking his brain with a dark and comforting veil, and he did not mind so much the insistent looks sent in his direction. Maybe that was why Connor was feeling less anxious. He couldn’t really say anymore – and he didn’t care. He laid back more comfortably against the plush cushions of the bench, wondering idly if he would be able to eat the desert he’d ordered. He was so full.

He sighed in half-despair in his glass – a glass so big some people would call it a vase really. The sound of his amused scoff echoed in the funniest way, and the exhaled air pushed the wine around with so much force it sloshed dangerously around his nose. He put the glass down with a guilty smile on his lips. Thank god Amanda wasn’t here to witness his amusement, she would have kicked him under the table for sure. And knowing how pointy her shoes were tonight, her vengeful kick might have snapped his shin in half.

Before he could protest, Zlatko grabbed the bottle and started to pour the rest of the wine in Connor’s nearly empty glass. That’s only when the last drop fell that Connor found some wits to object. He could already feel his motor control slowly failing him, there was no need to make it worse.

“No, Mr. Andronikov.” He croaked, unable to confirm if he’d put the letters of Zlatko’s name in the right order. “That’s not reasonable.”

“Connor.” Zlatko deadpanned with a scoff. “You need to be unreasonable in life sometimes. Drink up, in honour of our new collaboration.”

Out of pure politeness, Connor compiled and mirrored Zlatko’s raised glass. He drank – but only a little sip.

“Now that’s a good lad. You’ll go far like this.”

Connor didn’t understand how getting drunk could help his career but he did not object nor did he ask for further explanation. Probably a custom in their milieu, he guessed while setting his glass back on the table. Next to him, Zlatko was still slowly sipping his drink, his knowing smile slowly fading, only to be replaced by a more serious expression as he looked down at Connor’s relaxed pose. 

Connor could not help but sit a bit straighter. His impeccable composure might be slightly impaired by alcohol, but it wasn’t an excuse to be completely sprawled over the bench. Amanda would never forgive him if she were to return to their table and find him like that. In addition, the buttons of his shirt might not survive long the extra strain his position was adding to their already precarious situation.

Connor looked down to check that they were still in place. Thank god for him, and for the couple dining in front of them, the button of his shirt seemed to be holding up. He would have been mortified if one of them suddenly had snapped and flown across the room like a bullet. The idea made him laugh softly as he closed his eyes in a tired mix of desperate amusement. It was best for him to avoid looking any longer at the sixty-year-old couple eating in front of him. He could picture only too well the woman’s alarmed shriek as her glass would explode in front of her because of an unknown projectile. It was true that flying buttons weren’t a common weapon.

Movement on his left tickled Connor’s instincts while half of his brain was wondering why Amanda was coming back to sit on Zlatko’s side – and so close to him. A stronger dip in the cushion next to his leg suddenly kicked him out of his drunken haze. Connor’s eyes snapped open, only for him to find Zlatko into his personal space, looking at him with a serious expression, as if he wanted to confess something important.

“I sincerely believe you have great potential. Your voice is like raw gold.”

Zlatko laid his hand on Connor’s knee in emphasis, and Connor had to fight his instincts to shy away from the burning touch. Zlatko was a tactile person, like Markus was. Tactile persons liked touching parts he didn’t like them to touch; it was a normal reaction he needed to learn to get over with. Right now, rejecting Zlatko’s hand would be considered as an insult and Amanda would never forgive him for offending the man, and closing the door on all their future collaborations. His intoxicated body stayed inert under the man’s touch, but Connor couldn’t help his eyes from watching Zlatko’s plump fingers on his leg.

Only Zlatko’s soft murmur brought his eyes upward.

“And, if you let me, I do believe I can make a star out of you – even bigger than Kamski.”

A part of him wanted to cry in relief as he pictured himself under the lights of fame – and away from Amanda’s constant pressure to work harder to reach their goal. Free. At last! A bubble of gratitude rose at the back of his throat, reaching his lips, only to die in a strangled grunt as he suddenly felt Zlatko’s hand slide up his thigh.

His body froze as a mix of bile and alcohol clogged his windpipe. He looked back down, petrified, unable to do anything but watch that hand slowly slide up his leg, and then around the inside of his thigh. The blaring alarm ringing in his ear grew louder, so loud in fact that he almost missed Zlatko’s whispered request.

“Will you let me, Connor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2021/01/02:  
> Drunk!Connor: pew-pew flying buttons! pew-pew-pew  
> Amanda: wtf is he doing now?  
> Zlatko: watch my creepy magical powers. I'll sober him up in a second. *creepy-touch his leg*  
> Connor: O_O  
> Amanda: ... can you teach me?
> 
> Sorry if you need to wash your hand or take a shower after this chapter. It's another one of Zlatko's super power.  
> Please leave a comment if you feel like it.  
> love you guys! ❤  
> Take care


	9. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!  
> I know last chapter probably left a bad taste on your tongue, please accept the following chapter to wash the taste off and start the year on the right foot!  
> enjoy! and happy new year!

The bar Hank had invited Markus to meet for a beer was packed well beyond capacity on that Friday evening. The affluence wasn’t something Markus wasn’t used to, nor was the loud shouts of the usual customers, already quite drunk despite the early hour. The fact that his friend was late was yet another usual thing for Markus. It was fine, really. But he was giving Hank ten more minutes to get in here – ten minutes or the time required to finish his first beer - before he was calling him to ask if he needed help to drag his geriatric ass to his favourite waterhole.

He was dying to hear Hank’s offended insults on the other end of the phone.

Despite knowing far too well that it was useless to check his phone for new messages from his favourite countertenor, Markus looked at it anyway. Unsurprisingly, the screen was devoid of any notification. Like the hundreds times he’d checked before. Connor had warned him. Between his flight, New-York transportation and the audition, he wouldn’t have more than a few minutes to look at his phone. And that horrible torture would probably last until his return home this Sunday evening. 

Markus washed down his disappointment with a few swigs of his beer. His last message was still left unanswered and he had to fight very hard to avoid adding a second one.

He sighed. For God’s sake. He was worse than a junky. He was clinging to his dealer’s leg, gripping their clothes as if his life depended on it, and begging them to give him his next shot.

And what a shot.

Since he’d met Connor at the Eden Bar, Markus couldn’t get him out of his mind. He could not forget his surprised expression as he’d called his name, nor the confused frown pinching the bridge of his nose in the cutest way. He remembered as if it was yesterday, and the memory of his encounter never failed to bring a tender smile on his face.

Hank’s mysterious description had piqued Markus’ curiosity like the greatest mystery of the universe. A ‘Latin teacher lost in a metal concert’? What the hell did he mean? And how was he supposed to recognize him with only that cryptic information?

Too eager to put a face on that mysterious character, Markus had rushed inside the bar like a hound on the scent. After a quick sniff around the room, he turned around and that’s when he’d found Connor, standing quietly next to the entrance, out of everyone’s way. It was making so much sense now.

But it was more subtle than that.

Lean and well built, Connor was standing very straight, his spine held in a rigid and arrow-like line as if he was wearing a corset. His old-fashion clothes sure looked the part, and his movement were precise and elegant. His whole attitude matched the ‘Latin teacher’ description but it also reminded Markus of the most delicate machinery, like a Swiss watch assembled with the greatest care by little white-gloved hands. No. He was too still now. He looked like the finest statue. White marble polished with love and devotion, some centuries ago. 

And then Connor had looked up when hearing his name.

Open wide in a mix of surprised confusion, Connor’s eyes were like two bottomless wells of bubbling tar, sparkling in the most curious way. Markus had been struck by their depth at the time. He’d never seen someone with such piercing eyes, and his brain was quick to draw an easy conclusion: Connor wasn’t from there. And by ‘there’, he meant Earth. It was the only explanation.

His general posture, and his big dark brown eyes gave him an air of sweet candour, an innocent and angelic aura, which awoke something dark and dangerous inside of him. Something covered in oil that climbed up his spine until it could whisper its advice to Markus’ ear: he ought to convert that countryside priest to the modern ways of Detroit’s youth – and quick.

_Before someone else did._

Markus had to shake his head in a desperate attempt to clear the smell of burned matches surrounding that little devil’s words. The tiniest spark was enough to set aflame that lustful monster inside his belly. Markus didn’t need Hank to find him in that hazy state – or he would hear about that story for years.

But how could he resist? One had to be made of stone not to grow fond of Connor. Jericrew members all agreed on the subject. Simon had been the first to adopt him, as fast as their first meeting, and Josh could not hide his honest smile every time Connor stepped into the room. Even North was warming up to him and appreciated Connor as much as a person as well as a musician. 

She must have seen what Markus saw; she must have seen that whirling storm of passion hidden under Connor’s polite shell, she must have sensed the sea of precious stones hiding under that thick gangue of inert stone. But while they all stopped at what Connor’s fragile mood allowed them to glimpse, Markus yearned to plunge his hands in and unearth all of Connor’s hidden beauty.

Already a tactile kind of person, Markus was constantly struggling to keep his hands off Connor’s delicate silhouette. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to. He had to. Connor had always behaved like a wild deer from their first meeting. He’d been weary and twitchy, jumping at the softest touch, and that fact alone had forced Markus to hold off – afraid he’d see Connor jump back into the safe refuge of the forest he came from. Despite his wariness, Connor had never fled so far. He kept coming back with his curious eyes, more trusting each time they met.

Connor wasn’t yet domesticated, but he was getting more relaxed and showing more and more of his natural self to his friends. He was acting more freely, his candour and his natural grace shining stronger. Worse even, he seemed to be growing more appreciative of Markus’ attention, almost closing his eyes at each of his friend’s touch.

And that’s when the real struggle began.

Markus tried to hold off most of his innuendos at first, or at least to soften them with a thick coat of pleasantry, still unsure if Connor would take offense and flee. But Connor had stayed and endured Markus dirty joke with the most endearing blush. Eventually, the sharp edge of Markus’ jokes had managed to chip enough of Connor’s protective shell to fully reveal what the young countertenor was hiding under his polite looks. Markus had hoped for colourful crystals of quartz, instead, he was staring at a whole forest of gleaming gems, sharp tortured shapes of shining stones blinding him at each appearance of Connor’s timid smile.

The discovery had left with only one certainty: he had to know each of those glowing facets. He had to discover their sharp edges with his fingers, to learn all of their subtleties and uniqueness. He wanted to appraise their beauty under different lightings. He wanted to see the most glorious sun shine its light through that forest of innocence, and watch in awe as millions of colours danced around him.

But as light splattered bright and vibrant colours, Markus could no longer ignore the disturbing shadows that sometimes darkened Connor's face.

While a part of him was howling under the full moon of his libido, something small and dripping with honey crawled inside of his chest. He felt it slide its tiny fingers around his aorta before it hugged his beating heart like a kid taking ownership of a new teddy bear. Every time one of these shadows would darken Connor’s expression, the sweet little thing clenched Markus’ heart tighter, a sharp squeeze that left him fighting for his next breath.

Hank had warned him of these shadows, and Markus had glimpsed some telling clues here and then: an empty stare into nothing, a tired expression or a silent sigh. Gavin’s attack had made all these clues too strong to ignore them any longer, and Markus had hugged Connor tightly that week. His friend accepted the hug and Markus’ reassurances with a polite smile but Markus could see that he wasn’t really listening to any of his kind words.

His honey-covered heart had melted that day, and Markus had only found the strength to get back up thanks to a burning belief: he could let Connor fade away like this before his very eyes. Music was always a good cure on any occasion, what he had in mind should be even better.

Never in his life had Markus found ‘better’ to be such an inadequate word.

The gang had rarely played with so much passion and euphoria. They all played, exalted and amazed as Connor radiated right next to them, free and wild like Markus had never seen him. He’d managed to smoothly get his cello to fit in most of their songs with skills that left Markus almost speechless. Even after Connor had run away, the buzzing energy had remained strong, and him and the Jericrew had played several more hours, bouncing news ideas off each other.

Only a text alert had successfully derailed the train of his exaltation, and his friends didn’t need to ask about the sender as he broke into the goofiest smile. North had rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh that even Simon’s chuckle could not hide. The sender in question came back the week after with his fanciest turtleneck and eyes shining with raw passion.

However, just when he believed Connor to be out of the wood for good, elated by their common passion and unveiling more and more of his perfect self, the shadow had returned.

Still using Markus’ heart as a comforting Teddy, the little thing had squeezed so hard that Markus was left with no other choice but to do the same with Connor. His embrace was returned with little belief, like a resigned prisoner waiting for their execution. The realization had been like a knife in the gut. Part of him cried in offense; how could Connor doubt his perfection? How could he not be proud of himself, of being such a fabulous singer? How could he not see the beauty Markus was contemplating with awe.

Connor had looked up to meet his eyes and Markus had been unable to resist their call any longer. He’d kissed him. The kiss was nothing more than a peck really, but it was the only way he could think of to bring back Connor with him and make him see how much he cared and believed in him.

North would certainly be laughing her ass off at his feeble excuse to justify his impulse, but she wasn’t there to laugh now, so he gave the excuse a mental nod of approval. It was a perfectly valid explanation.

Although he was embracing his decision now, Markus remembered not being so confident at the time.

Connor’s shocked expression after his impulsive kiss had left Markus torn between amusement, fear that he’d scared him off for good, and regrets of not being able to kiss him some more yet. After his initial shock, Connor seemed to agree on the latter mood, as he almost leaned into Markus' face, looking at his lips with a curious and longing expression. But then, as if something had tugged on his collar, Connor had pulled back.

“Earth to Markus.”

Two pints clinked in front of his eyes and Markus looked up to see his friend drop the fresh beers on the table in front of him.

“Hank!”

“You looked as if you were miles away.” Hank's soft chuckle turned into a grunt as he sat down on his shabby-looking chair.

“Quite.” Markus answered as he chugged the rest of his lukewarm beer. He glanced at his phone. He’d spent almost twenty minutes daydreaming, and missed the opportunity to get insulted by Hank over the phone – plus Connor still hadn’t answered his text. Ignoring the disappointed sigh that rose in his chest, Markus decided to fix one of his first mistakes. “I was only worrying about you.” Markus explained with a smile. “I was worried that, in your great age, you’d forgotten the way to your favourite bar.”

“Oh piss off you little punk! I’m not old enough that I can’t kick your ass like you deserve!”

Hank's accusing finger was shaking menacingly between them and, after a few seconds of silence, they both burst into laughing.

“It’s been far too long since we’ve seen each other!” Markus was still chuckling. “I’m glad we could fix that tonight. How’s Sumo doing?”

“Oh he’s fine. He drools and farts just as much as he’s always done. But I guess it runs in the family.”

He could picture only too well Hank and his dog sprawled over the couch, farting in unison in front of some random TV program. The image was strong enough to make Markus smile into his glass.

“And what about your own Sumo?”

Markus was about to ask him what he meant by that, when he noticed Hank’s smirk. His confused frown instantly turned into a comical eye-roll of fake exasperation.

“Connor isn’t my dog.”

“No that’s true.” Hank agreed with a scoff. “Plus there is a limit to one’s love towards their dog. You’re too far along for it to still be legal.”

Seeing how Hank had his face tongue-washed by Sumo every other day, he was one to talk! His face betrayed his outrage before he could properly object.

“Don’t try to deny it Markus, I know what you guys are up to. The poor lad was forced to wear turtlenecks for two straight weeks to hide the hickeys you placed here. He said it was to protect his throat from the wind.” Hank scoffed. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know what a turtleneck usually hides.”

Connor had said something similar when North had commented on his new style. Markus remembered thinking that the weather wasn’t so bad at the time, but he hadn’t commented on it. Connor did wear a similar jumper the following week, but since he was seeing Connor only once a week, Connor’s second new garment had not raised any flag, and Markus' mind had stamped this as a pure coincidence. But from what Hank was saying, Connor had worn turtlenecks for 15 days straight. This couldn’t be a coincidence or a new whim.

Connor had tried to hide something around his neck, and Markus had nothing to do with it.

The conclusion drew a confused frown on his face, which convinced Hank of his good faith as he claimed his innocence. The case of the recurrent turtleneck however, remained a mystery.

What could he have tried to hide under that high collar? Marks of some new lover’s possessiveness? The unforgiving bite of a vampire?

Thousands of scenarios pressed at the back of his mind like mass-produced parts shooting out of a production line. Markus had enough wits to hit the emergency button before he got crushed under the sheer number of stupid hypothesis his brain had come up with. There was no point in speculating now. He would ask Connor in due time.

When he realized that his hand had grabbed his phone and his thumb was already scrolling through their previous conversation, Markus bit down a curse against the persistence of his subconscious. In due time, he said. Not now!

“Maybe it was a bit presumptuous to assume that Connor is your Sumo.” Hank pondered while sipping his beer. “Between his puppy eyes and you whining at the door while longing for his return, you might be the one deserving the Sumo award.”

Despite the low flame of his annoyance at his treacherous mind, Markus could not help but smile at the image. He drowned a third of his beer before conceding the point to his friend.

“You’re not wrong.”

Thankfully for him, any additional remark on the subject was cut short by their waitress, who swapped Markus empty glass with a little cup full of nibbles. She also reminded them that they shouldn’t hesitate to give her a shout if they needed anything. She could have winked, but her looming hesitation on the edge of their table, on such a busy night, was enough for Markus to read the silent offer. If they needed anything, her personal services included. He thanked her with a candid smile. Really, he didn’t need anything else.

Except maybe an answer to his text. Connor should have arrived at his hotel by now.

When he dropped back his phone on the table with a tired smile, Hank gave him a sympathetic look.

“Still no news, eh?”

“No. I hope he’ll pass the audition.”

“I hope so too.” Hank agreed. “God only knows he deserves it. The poor sod is doing his homework with such discipline, it would give a hard-on to any instructing officer.”

Despite the far too salacious metaphor, Markus could not disagree. He’d never seen someone work their ass off as hard as Connor was.

“He reminds me of Pinocchio sometimes.” Hank’s voice was nothing more than a murmur. A piece of his mind that he was sharing with Markus, as his fingers wiped condensation on his glass. It looked like it was the only information Hank was about to give him for now.

“Why is that?” Markus asked.

“I can see Connor yearning for a life as a real boy, trying his best to live as such – but then his manager always pulls at his strings and brings him back on track.”

Markus had noticed that swift mood change anytime Connor would mention his manager, or the dense schedule she was forcing upon him. He’d consequently always avoided the subject, but now that Hank was sharing the same suspicion, Markus felt like he’d missed something. A bit how he felt every time he was finishing assembling a cheap furniture and wondering what was the last screw there for.

Before he could start a serious session of self-flagellation for being such a coward, Hank grumbled.

“I sometimes wonder what’s really going with her.”

“He is indeed very quiet about her.” Markus concurred.

“I’ve only spoken to her twice over the phone and, oh boy, isn't she a delight.” Hank’s face was screwed up in a sarcastic grimace. “I can understand why he doesn’t want to talk about her.”

“Why?”

“She remained pretty neutral during our first exchange. Not too cold or too cheerful. But things got nasty on our second call: icy tone and words full of condescending wrath. It can’t say that I was very polite that day.”

“What caused such aggressive behaviour?”

“You remember that afternoon when you’ve experimented with new music stuff with the band and Connor?”

“Of course.”

How could he forget the day he’d first witnessed Connor spread his beautiful wings?

“Well, when his manager asked why he was coming back home so late, he told her that I set the whole thing up so he could learn new techniques from a live band; and in the general excitement, we lost track of the time.

That’s right. Markus always forgot that Hank was still keeping that lie up, pretending to give Connor private lessons every Wednesday so that him and Markus could spend some time together. He’d thought Connor would have confessed at some point. Or explained that he was seeing a different teacher now. No. From what Hank was telling him, Connor’s manager would have called him straight away, asking about his credential and ordering him to bring her proof that he could teach anything to Connor.

He nodded sombrely, suddenly at a loss of words to describe his latent anger. This was unfair. Connor deserved far better than this tight cage built by his manager, he deserved everything – and more!

The waitress came back to scoop the now empty bowl of nibbles a few minutes later. She also checked if they wanted a new round of beers, which of course they did. As she left with their order, Hank used the silence that followed her departure to subtly change the topic of their conversation.

Well, as subtle as Hank could manage.

“So you and Connor, you’ve never...?”

“What?!” Markus spluttered. “No!”

“Don’t act so prude about it! Not you, Markus, and not with me.” His accusing finger held stories Markus wasn’t so proud about, but Hank did not bring them up as examples to prove his point. Instead he kept shouting at him over the table. “To be honest, I should be the one surprised to see that you two are still stuck at first base!”

If he was being honest too, their quick kiss could not even be considered as first base material. Did very adjacent gravitation count? His pensive frown must have betrayed his thoughts, because Hank’s elbows clanked on the table top almost instantly. His jaw wasn’t too far from the wooden surface either.

“For fuck’s sake Markus.” Hank shouted in disbelief. “Nothing at all?”

“It’s complicated!” he was almost squirming at this point.

“What’s so complicated about this? You fancy him, he fancies you. You two guys get a room, and fuck it out of your system!”

Someone took a sharp breath next to him and Markus looked up to find their waitress frozen right next to him. He retrieved the two glasses from her frozen clutch with a charming smile. She hadn’t dropped the freshly drawn beers – thank god for that – but it was still a highly probable possibility. At least now, he wouldn’t need to politely decline her insistent requests for more. Hank could not hold back a chuckle as she left.

“Poor girl. You’ll have to be generous with your tip. Or she will never recover from her shock.”

“I don’t have that kind of money.” Markus joked.

Hank laughed good-heartedly. He knew very well that, although he lived like a gypsy, Markus was far from poor. Thanks to his dad.

“How’s the old Carl by the way?”

“Still highly productive and requested by all sorts of galleries and art magazines.”

“I can only guess he’s still telling them off in his own charming way.”

“Of course he is.” Markus could not help but smile fondly. “I’m still able to convince him to agree to a few requests. But he’s only attending to most of the events because I’m the one dragging him there.”

‘There’ being some fancy place full of pompous pricks, thinking they were oh so original because they dressed in flashy designer clothes. A posh version of Hell Carl only agreed to visit because of the free bar. Sadly, he could not avoid the useless chit-chat inherent to this type of galas. Markus usually had to fight the need to roll his eyes at least once or twice during the evening, but Carl had stopped caring about being civil years ago. He did not hold back or sugar-coat any of his thoughts – at all.

At First Markus had been mortified by his father’s frankness. Now he only laughed it off while making bland excuses as they strolled away. He knew that by the end of the night, most of the invitee would look like angry birds, red-eyed and feathers ruffled beyond saving. Their anger would not last, nor would their opinion impair Carl’s reputation. He was too talented for people to turn their back on him because of his sharp tongue. Which meant he was still invited to galas and people still tried to kiss his ass. Carl hated most of the crowd he met there and always tried to cut the evening short.

“Using his disability to drag your old man where he doesn’t want to go, that’s a low blow Markus.”

Hank’s accusation was negated by the mischievous smile that pulled at his lips. Hank would have done exactly the same thing if given the same power over Carl. Maybe even worse.

“But dragging him there is one thing.” Markus chuckled as more memories came back to his mind. “Keeping him there is a completely different matter. Last time he sent me to fetch some cocktails at the bar, and sneaked out of the room like a thief. Sadly for him, the building didn’t meet disabled persons’ standards. I caught up on him easily.”

Hank burst into laughter so hard he almost choked on his beer. They laughed for a good minute before their amusement settled. They were still chuckling fondly when Hank picked back the conversation.

“Ah, that good ol’ Carl. I have to go and visit him sometimes.”

“For sure.” Markus raised his glass in approval of Hank’s suggestion. “Help yourself in if you don’t get any answer. Carl’s often locked in his studio at the back of the mansion. He can’t hear the doorbell from there.”

“Isn’t there a carer to answer the door for him?”

“He keeps firing them.” Came Markus’ tired answer. “I stop by as often as I can to palliate but it’s far from enough.”

“And I’m sure he tells you that he’s fine like that.”

“Of course.” Markus’ sigh grew louder. “I’d be so much more at ease if I knew someone was there to take care of him 100% of the time.”

Like he did about a thousand times per week, Markus paused to consider again the option of moving back in with his father. That way he could keep an eye on him and tend to his needs. He would have a longer commute to reach the hospital and the kids there every afternoon, but it was doable. He’d also have a bit less time for the band – and for Connor.

Hank must have mistaken his blank stare as a request for help because he immediately protested.

“Don’t look at me. I’ve never been the caring type like you.”

Markus could not help but raise one dubious eyebrow at his friend's statement. Seeing how Hank acted like a mother hen with Connor, it was pretty obvious he was caring just fine. Markus didn’t miss the occasion to point out that fact.

“Yeah well.” Hank grumbled like the old bear he was. “It’s complicated.”

Everything was indeed a bit more complicated with Connor. But not in a bad way.

Hank was a grumpy old man, waiting nothing more from life than being left alone. Despite that, he’d taken Connor under his wing without any second thought. Worse even. Not only was he fervently trying to develop Connor’s social skills, but Hank was also constantly watching out for him and Markus wasn’t surprised to hear that he was standing in Amanda’s way in order to protect Connor - like a flippin’ human shield. Markus couldn’t blame him; he was riding on the very same boat. Albeit a bit more perverse kind of boat, but still.

Like Hank had pointed out, Markus wasn’t known for his innocent love-life. As North so elegantly put it, Markus shagged lovers as easily as others breathed air. But Markus found that he was unable to act like he usually did with Connor – even though a part of him screeched every time he’d toned down his charms. This was a frustratingly slow march toward Connor’s heart, but however frustrating his approach could be, Markus cherished every little victory. Every little smile, every little shiver and contented sigh was more exciting than any random shag.

He raised his glass, toasting one last time with his friend.

“To complications.”

“To complications.” Hank agreed. “And to Connor.”

“Amen.”

Hank patiently waited for Markus to take the first sip of his beer before bringing the topic back on the table.

“No, but for real? Nothing at all?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20210109:  
> Hank: how dare you keep my little boy waiting for so long??  
> Markus: but!  
> Hank: there is no buts!  
> Markus: that's funny because Connor too h-  
> Hank: shut up and go swipe him off his feet!  
> Markus: yes Sir!
> 
> xD I love writing BestDad!Hank so much..  
> Sorry if this was too sweet for your tastebuds! ;)  
> Take care! and thanks for the kudos!


	10. Because I'm Happy

He’d had far too much to drink. This realization hit him as he watched the city lights flash before his hazy eyes. He groaned silently, revelling in the biting cold of the passenger window where his forehead was pressed against and wishing Amanda and Zlatko would stop talking - at last. Indifferent to his discomfort, the two were chatting loudly at the front of the car, revisiting previous conversations or laughing at his expanse, Connor couldn’t tell. And he didn’t care. The only thing he knew was that, were his mouth still in working condition, he would probably have told them to shut the hell up. And screw the consequences.

Each sound echoed in his head like the loudest bell, every cell of his body vibrating under the impact. His brain was pulsing with the same slow and unforgiving beat while his stomach seemed to be looking for some refuge somewhere at the back of his throat. A growing nausea followed its slow ascension up Connor’s oesophagus, the sickness getting worse and worse as his treacherous stomach climbed higher. Connor swallowed, hoping it would be enough to send it back where it belonged – but it wasn’t. Sounds tasted vile in his mouth and colours pricked at his eyes like sand thrown in his face, forcing him to close his eyes as a new wave of nausea hit him.

In a feeble attempt to evade the feeling, Connor peeled his head off the side window and leaned back in his seat with a strained sigh. His shirt had been the most uncomfortable piece of clothing he’d ever worn before, but the white garment was now worse than a strait jacket. It was so tight he couldn’t breathe properly anymore. He was gasping for air, and the idea of getting in his hotel room an being able feel the soft cotton of his PJs against his skin made his chest swell with impatience. At the thought, Connor felt his fingers fly to check on the distended belly of his shirt before he could think against it. He was yearning – no he was dying to pop the buttons off and relieve some of that unbearable pressure. His breath hitched in anticipation as his shaky fingers closed on the first button, but a little voice changed their course at the last moment. Connor reached for his collar instead and pulled at his tie – the same one that was still half-strangling him.

 _There_ , he sighed. _Much better._

He revelled in the new found breathing-space with a relieved sigh, his spine melting in his seat as his fingers caressed the dotted line of his over-strained button in a silent promise: soon.

The rolling sound of the car stopped several minutes later, and it took Connor a few more seconds to gather the strength to leave his current position. When he eventually opened his eyes, two black and shiny marbles were staring at him through the rear-view mirror like a hungry spider eying its prey.

One gut-wrenching kick of his most primal instincts, and Connor jumped out of the car before he could understand why.

Damp, sticky air coated his tongue with a stale patina and he clutched the open door of the car in a weak attempt to secure his swaying stance. He nearly choked on New York smog, swallowing a strained whine as a sharp pain suddenly pierced his temple. He squeezed his eyes shut to get some semblance of control over the pain. His head was a pulsing mess, but his stomach’s angry protests were getting all of his attention nonetheless. The message was loud and clear. Since the offended organ had suffered through a full five-course meal and far too much alcohol, it deserved to be treated with all the precaution possible. And Connor better remembered this if he didn’t want to spend the next coming minutes with his head hanging over the toilet bowl.

Connor tried to reason his sore belly – he’d drunk a bit, alright, but not that much. Certainly not enough to justify such resentment from his stomach. For starters, Connor had only drunk one glass of champagne at the beginning of their diner. At least, he only remembered been assigned only one glass. Wait. Now that he gave it some thoughts, he did remember finding it odd that his glass kept getting fuller every time he’d looked away. Plus their waitress had come to retrieve the empty bottle before their first dish was served.

Ok, maybe one glass and a half then.

His stomach hissed at his painfully slow counting, demanding the upward revision of his estimation while his brain kept trying to put the pieces of his evening back together in order to adjust the grand total. He was trying, ok?

He remembered that his little trick to avoid being included in the conversation had worked well. So well in fact that he could not recall speaking more than ten minutes during the whole evening. The other consequence of the trick was that, after their initial toast, Connor had washed down wine glasses of wine after wine glasses. He couldn’t say exactly how much because Zlatko had kept refuelling his glass even before Connor could reach the bottom of it, but it was more than four – maybe even five.

On top of that, Zlatko had insisted on him drinking one last glass of liquor, a digestive shot Connor had had no choice but to swallow. As he wavered on the wet pavement, Connor wondered how he could have accepted to drink that burning liquid, which wasn’t helping his digestion in any way. His stomach asked him the exact same question.

A hand suddenly grabbed his arm, and Connor could not help but jump as the vicious touch threw him back into reality.

“Thank you again for that lovely evening.” Amanda purred. “I really hope we can meet again soon.”

Her vengeful fingers bit harder into the tender flesh of his arm, and the pain was sharp enough for his alcohol-soaked brain to recognize the silent prompt.

“Yes.” Connor winced as he adjusted his stance. “Thank you very much.”

His words of gratitude were only met with another hard squeeze of Amanda’s claws, spelling out her silent order for him to elaborate. She was right though. After all, Zlatko was holding the door open towards fame and success. A simple ‘thank you’ couldn’t decently suffice. He struggled to put words in the correct order, but after a few seconds of cheerfully awkward silence, Connor spoke up.

“And thank you for this chance you’re giving me. To be able to work with you.”

“Connor,” Zlatko drawled with a soft smirk, shrugging casually. “I still believe I’m the luckier of us both. But we’ll have the opportunity go over the details another day. Have a good rest and a safe trip home.”

“Thank you, Zlatko.”

Amanda using his name as requested earlier earned her one ridiculously over-played kiss on the back her hand – Victorian style. The urge to throw up just then and there was almost too much.

“Thank you, my dear Amanda.”

She purred her farewell before dragging Connor inside the hotel and into their shared room. The hotel staff had opened their two single beds during their absence and he eyed the neatly rolled up covers with mixed feelings. His body was dizzy with exhaustion and he was dying to finally crash on the mattress and not move for the next twelve coming hours. He yearned to do just that, right now, but a part of him could not help but regret the fact that he couldn’t do this without having Amanda in the same room, looking at him with her hard and condescending eyes.

She always booked single rooms in order to save some expanses, and therefore to reduce the size of Connor’s debt. He appreciated the gesture and the economy, but tonight, he couldn’t see the twin beds as anything else but a new insult, a new vicious attempt to control him 24/7. Connor was used to being cautious about his posture and expression around his godmother, but now that his quiet mask of diligence was torn apart by the sharp claws of exhaustion, a little voice rose from the back of his mind. It was all puffed up in anger, full of resentment and frustrations. Thankfully, Connor was quick to silence his inner voice before it could speak up. He was too tired to be fighting Amanda tonight.

As if on cue, Amanda slammed the door shut, without any consideration for him and his highly sensitive ears or the other clients sleeping on the same floor.

“You could have been a little bit more agreeable with Mr. Andronikov.” Came Amanda’s immediate reproach. “Don’t’ you get that he can make you the new Kamski?”

“I was polite.” Connor replied to his defence before he could even wonder why Amanda wasn’t happy about his behaviour - again. He frowned. ‘Polite’ was already a miracle in itself when his face only wanted to crumple in a disgusted frown every time Zlatko looked his way. Despite this, Connor seemed to remember being quite friendly with the man.

“A wooden plank can be just as polite. I’m asking you why you didn’t meet the interest that Zlatko was showing for you with more passion.”

He frowned again. Really, he couldn’t have done anything better.

Amanda looked at him from head to toe with a disdainful frown, the same look she’d given him several weeks ago, as if he’d been the most disgusting thing she’d laid her eyes on. He adjusted his jacket, suddenly self-conscious and remembering just now how much he hated this skin-tight shirt. Amanda eventually looked pointedly at the bathroom.

“Now get changed and go to bed.” She snapped. “We’ll talk about this when you’ll be a little less drunk.”

Connor promptly complied and marched inside the bathroom without objecting to her order nor commenting on the unpleasant tone she'd used. His mind was too far gone to care, and all of its working power was solely dedicated to one objective: getting rid of his damn clothes and fall face first on his bed. Everything else was nothing more than white noise in his peripheral vision that his brain was quick to filter. However, as the bathroom lights blinked on, something in his reflection caught his attention.

He looked as intoxicated as he felt, his pupils blown wide and glossy, and his hair a complete mess from combing his fingers in there too many times. His lips were parted around short and shallow breaths, is throat pulsing with sick excitement as he took in the rest of his dishevelled appearance. It should not have been possible, but his shirt looked like it had shrunk during their meal, clinging to his skin like a thin layer of semi-transparent latex. His overall appearance gave him a debauched look that suddenly reminded him of Markus, and he found himself wondering what his friend would have thought if he’d come to their first meeting dressed like this. For sure, no Latin teacher would walk into their class dressed like _that_. Right?

As he absentmindedly considered that innocent question, Connor shrugged his black jacket off and watched it fall on the floor in a quiet whisper. A few hours earlier, Connor had rushed to cover his chest, feeling completely exposed by the skin-tight shirt, but now – now - he found himself unable to resist the urge to feel the fabric over his chest, feel his fingers swipe over the damned shirt and feel the firm flesh underneath. He looked as his hand trailed over his grand pectoral, mesmerized by the sight and the tingling sensation caused by the light caress.

Alcohol was playing tricks on his mind and body. He felt disconnected. Even though his eyes could see who the hand belonged to, a completely different scene was playing at the back of his head. The fingers brushing over his flesh weren’t his anymore. No. Invoked by the sole power of his imagination, like a playful spirit from some urban legend, Markus suddenly took control of his movements. Markus was the one who moved his hands and untied the crooked knot of his tie. Yes. He was the one who, with a mischievous smile, brushed his fingers against the first button and popped it open, then the second – the third. By the time he moved past his breastbone and reached the tender skin of his belly, Connor was almost half hard. A strangled breath left his lips as shivers rippled through his guts. He was stunned, breathless and unmoving - frozen in place by the lascivious shine of his own reflection.

Despite his fervent denial for a few weeks now, he couldn’t pretend not to see it anymore: he had made a pact with the devil, and spending time in Markus’ close proximity had transformed him into a lustful creature, dripping with want and shameless desires.

And the end result was fascinating.

“Connor!”

At the loud and annoyed bang on the door, Connor tore his eyes away from the mirror with a start.

“Are you going to sleep in there or what?”

“No.” He croaked. “I’m almost done.”

His burning desires washed away by Amanda sharp tone, Connor stripped as efficiently as his numb fingers allowed before putting his PJs on with a quiet sigh. After a full evening spent within the tight confines of his shirt, the shapeless cut of his PJs tasted like the sweetest freedom. Even his moody stomach welcomed the change and stopped growling unhappily all at once. Connor took this opportunity to brush his teeth and wash the drunk patina off his face with a few splash of cold water. He looked up at his reflection, blinking blearily at the grey shine of his skin now that his blood wasn’t buzzing in his veins, no longer warmed up by the fire of his libido. His lustful dragon was asleep once more, and Connor had no choice but do the same.

When he eventually left the bathroom to make a bee-line to his bed, Amanda suddenly caught him square in the chest, smashing a bottle of water against his breastbone.

“Drink the full bottle before you go to bed.” She ordered. “I don’t want to have to deal with your hangover tomorrow.”

“Yes Amanda.”

Connor gulped down said bottle with careful and measured sips. However, his stomach shut down abruptly before Connor could finish the last quarter of the bottle’s content. The message was painfully clear. Any additional drop, and it would spit everything out. Connor wasn’t foolish enough to try, and he stored the bottle between his besides table and the bed before carefully sliding under the covers. The noise of the running faucet blended with the high-pitched ringing in his ears and Connor groaned pitifully when his inner ear refused to settle. His brain could not compute all the spinning. Not when his body was laying like a stone, heavy and unmoving while his head felt like he was stuck in some kind of spinning-machine from Hell. Under the growing wave of nausea that came with his confusion, Connor had no other choice but to re-open his eyes and stare straight forward in a desperate search for a fixed point in space.

Indifferent to his discomfort, Amanda came back into the room as if she was alone in the world, turning all lights on and slamming cabinet doors with her usual abruptness. His pasty mouth opening on a silent protest, Connor curled himself into a tight ball, clutching his knees against his chest like a drowning sailor clinging to the emergency lifebuoy. If he remained silent and stopped moving, maybe his stomach would appreciate his effort and calm down at some point, right?

Amanda eventually turned the lights off and slipped in her bed with a satisfied sigh. Connor waited for a few more seconds – or minutes, he couldn’t really tell anymore – before closing his eyes. The spinning came back, and this time, his stomach seemed to be spinning too.

As his stomach kept growling menacingly, Connor whispered a soft promise, a small peace-offering:

Never again would he drink alcohol.

Water.

He’d drink water and nothing else.

Water was about the only thing he could stomach the following day – that, and a stale piece of bread he munched slowly throughout morning. When then finally reached their flat on Sunday’s late afternoon, Connor felt partially better but not by much. Compared to the cold puddle of misery he’d been all day, he felt more like a human being, however, his body was now begging for him to lie down and sleep. He could feel the heavy drag of exhaustion on every cell of his body like thousands of lead pads stuck to his skin. His feet set the course to his bedroom and he stumbled forward, marching on autopilot toward his bed and the promise of a good night of sleep.

Amanda, however, had other plans.

“Not so fast Connor.”

A plaintive moan died at the back of his throat as he considered the new obstacle Amanda had just erected between him and the sweet promise to finally putting his body out of its misery.

“I still want us to review our weekend.” She pointedly reminded him. As he wavered in the corridor, still considering making a run for his bedroom, she clicked her tongue reprovingly. “I left you in peace all the way back here. So you can at least sit down for five minutes so we can debrief your audition. Right?”

His surrender was inevitable.

“Yes Amanda.”

Connor walked over to the couch with restrained and measured steps. Their trip back home had been like a constant aggression for all his senses – the acrid smell of the underground, the noise, the assault of information and movements at the airport - and his body was still high on pain. Even now, in the quiet sanctuary of their flat, Connor still felt tense and raw, desperate to lie down and die. This request for a debriefing was killing him. It was. But his defiance would only lengthen his sentence and it was in his best interest to comply and be done with it. But it didn’t mean that he liked any of this.

The squeaking leather of their couch was loud in the room when Amanda sat down in front of him, eyes bright and legs crossed.

“You’ve got yourself one entry ticket to the big game, and that’s the best thing that we could’ve hopped for.” She sounded cheerful, almost proud of him – before her eyes turned harder on him. “But you have to understand that the few coming months are going to be critical for your career. We’ll have to work hard and smart.”

Amanda’s words hit him like a stone. Connor had seen the blow coming his way from miles away but he’d still hoped he’d be able to avoid it. But no. More work again and still more work after that. 

“You know, Connor. Being an opera singer is so much more than singing perfectly with the sweetest voice. You have to appeal to the audience, you have to make them yearn for your art, to reach deep in their guts, and be the most beautiful thing they’ve ever heard – and seen.”

He could not keep the confused frown off his face. Amanda had always been adamant about keeping any distracting gestures while on stage. She’d always put the song first, stating that he should be a cold and detached figure on stage and avoid polluting the song with his own emotions.

“I know.” She snarled. “That’s the complete opposite of what I’ve asked you for the past years. But it’s obvious to me now that being as pleasant to hear as it is to watch will make the difference.”

She studied him pensively for a few seconds before adding.

“Since you’ve been serious about your morning jogs, your physique won’t need much improvement. But your liveliness on stage though; you’ll have to seriously work on that.”

“But-”

“I know!” Amanda snapped with more force. “I can’t even remember how many times I’ve chastised you for being too expressive on stage, distracting the public with parasite gestures and expressions.” She huffed an exasperated sigh before looking at him, all bright eyed and passionate. “But that was before!” She almost cried. “Zlatko opened my eyes, and now I see. That’s the best about partnerships, isn’t it? To learn from the best and evolve accordingly.”

She could cry all she wanted. Amanda’s confession did nothing to stop the vicious ball of resentment from rolling up his throat, growing bigger as Connor remembered all the unjustified reproaches, all the humiliations he’d suffered for years. However, despite the horrible taste it left on his tongue, Connor had no other choice but to swallow it back down. Arguing about this would only send them spiraling down a war he had no energy left to fight. He only wished to go to bed.

“So this is what you’ll do too.” She ordered. “You’ll learn to look more confident on stage and when you’re working with Zlatko. Do you hear me?”

He gave her a quiet nod.

“And you’ll better get used to his interest and start acting with a bit more boldness around him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re like the purest clay in his hands. And he needs to be able to make the most exquisite pottery out of you, without you resisting to his touch and being all stiff and tight-lipped like you were yesterday.”

Yeah well, Connor sighed internally. This was easier said than done. Before he’d met Hank and Markus, the only persons coming close enough to touch him were the doctors appointed to make his bi-annual check-ups. She could not expect him to do anything else but flinch at the lightest touch. Markus and Hank had worked their way through Connor’s deeply rooted evasive reflexes, but it had taken time. It would be no different with his new employer. He’ll eventually get used to Zlatko’s lack of respect for his personal space. But it would take time, and a bit more effort.

“I’ll work on my social skills.” Connor promised despite his unease. “And I’ll work on being more lively on stage.”

“Good. If you think Mr. Anderson Can help you with that. You’re allowed to continue your usual training with him. However.” She warned him in a low voice. “If I see no progress, I’ll remove his private lessons from your schedule and fill that slot with two hours of acting classes. Are we clear?”

“Yes Amanda.”

“Now go get some sleep. You look like a zombie.”

For once, Connor eagerly complied with Amanda’s order. At last! He was on his way to the soft confines of his own bed and to the safe sanctuary of his bedroom - where he’d finally be able to look at his phone without risking its confiscation. He’d had no chance to check new messages since Zlatko drove them to the restaurant the night before, and Connor all but jumped on his phone like a heavy smoker after two days of forced abstinence.

Without any real surprise, Hank’s and Markus’ messages were patiently waiting in his inbox. He was quick to send a reassuring text to Hank, announcing the verdict of the audition with a goofy smile, before looking at the second conversation. At the top of his inbox, Markus seemed to have switched to emote only, spamming Connor with more smileys and exclamation points than a groupie on a fan page. He could not help but chuckle as he typed his answer.

**[Thanks! :D]  
[I need to go back over there next weekend to hand them the signed contract and do a quick photo-shoot for the program and the website. After that, I’ll be officially a part of the opera.]**

Markus’ answer came within seconds.

**[That’s great news!! I’m so happy for you! :D]  
[You’re still coming to hang out next Wednesday?]**

**[Yes of course.]  
[The only downside is that I have been instructed to train to be more expressive on stage.]  
[An advice from the main conductor apparently.]**

**[It’s true that you’re a bit stiff when you sing.]  
[But nothing that cannot be fixed with a bit of training.]**

He would probably never be as sensual and self-assured as Markus was, but his friend would certainly be able to help him. After all, his unorthodox method did help him overcome his little artistic constipation on Faure’s Requiem and, in a way, Markus' advices were quite similar to Zlatko’s philosophy.

**[Do you have more tricks up your sleeve to help me fix this particular problem?]**

**[We’ll figure something out don’t worry. ;D]**

Markus’ promise brought a tender smile on his lips. Yes, he had no worries regarding his friend’s abilities to figure something out. Knowing him, Markus would do anything in his power to help Connor, and he’d work even harder to make Connor blush while doing so. He couldn’t help but scoff at the idea and his guts did a strange flip as he realized that he didn’t mind anymore. If Markus was the only person to witness the way Connor’s cheeks turned red, then it was fine by him – more than fine really. To be honest, Connor was starting to welcome his friend’s teasing, and he couldn’t really tell anymore if the warmth colouring his cheeks was fuelled by his embarrassment or by the low burn of his own desires.

From somewhere deep in his guts, his inner dragon purred lasciviously and the vibration shook him to the core, making new fantasies pile up at the back of his mind, like dry leaves falling off a tree after a particularly strong gust of wind. One fantasy in particular refused to settle on the ground, spiralling playfully around his head until he had no choice but to look at it.

Tantalising images twirled before his eyes and Connor couldn’t help but picture himself surrendering to his friend’s playful teasing, without restraint nor shame. He could also picture himself answering to Markus’ teasing with equal want and skills – skill that he was sadly still far from mastering. Before his mind could imagine more, the soufflé of his libido suddenly fell down, crushed by the heavy stone of exhaustion. The wave that followed the impact carried him away from the shores of awareness and Connor was fast asleep before he could think about trying to keep his head afloat.

When he met with Hank the following day, his friend jumped out of his seat as soon as he saw him walk through the door.

“Come here kiddo!!”

Hank’s hug was enthusiastic enough to lift Connor off the ground and make several of his vertebrae pop, but complaining was the last thing he had in mind when he burrowed his nose in his friend’s shoulder. On the contrary. Seeing Hank sharing his joy only made it brighter. He chuckled softly as his friend eventually released him.

“Congratulation! You’re going get the fame you deserve at last!”

“Nothing’s done yet.” Connor’s protest came out of his mouth before he could stop himself. But the self-depreciative reflex was too well ingrained in his mind to prevent his objection, nor his pessimism. “I can still screw everything during the opening night.”

“Yeah, yeah. Counting chicken before they’re hatched and all that. I know.” Connor laughed off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But still. You’re going to perform in New York with a bunch of rock stars. I’m so damn proud of you!”

The compliment hit Connor straight in the guts, squeezing his throat shut as efficiently as if Hank had wrung it out like a wet cloth. He managed to croak his gratitude – while trying his best to hold back the tears of happiness that he could feel behind his eyes.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Hank asked.

“Nothing really changes during the week.” Connor explained with a shrug. “I will continue my degree here, and I will continue to rehearse for the Requiem so my voice stays perfectly tuned to the song. And Markus will work with me to improve my confidence on stage.”

“Oh yeah?” Hank could not keep the smile off his face when he asked innocently. “Markus doing extra work? Who would have known. You must be a damn good kisser.”

Connor almost choked on his on spit at the suggestion, but it was nothing compared to the offended hiss of the prude remains of his conscience. While it denied it all, something else creeped on his skin, a tingling sensation on his lips, a warm touch – a soft caress, which immediately reminded him of Markus’ stolen kiss from a few days earlier. Hank gave him a knowing look, as if he could read his thoughts and see all the impious scenarios that were bourgeoning at the back of his mind as easily as if Connor were casting them live on a white screen behind him. Connor almost turned around to check if it wasn’t the case when hank decided to start prying.

“Or ‘work’ is a new code for something else? Intense face-sucking? Mutual fondling?”

“Hank!”

Really, Connor didn’t need any more encouragement for his imagination to run wild. He’d suffered through enough of Markus' teasing for the embers of his libido to be constantly warm and ready. Under this constant heat, his brain was very – very – prompt to produce impious images at the mere mention of Markus – and certain activities. He buried his face into his hands, hoping cold fingers against his face might help block the indecent images playing behind his closed eyelids. His attempt did nothing to extinguish the building fire in his guts, but it did make Hank chuckle softly.

“I’m only teasing.” He added. “I know you guys are well-behaved.”

Well-behaved.

Connor suddenly considered the adjective sombrely, his mood cooling down as he mulled the words over his tongue. Well-behaved. This was the adjective each one of his teachers had used at some point for their review of his attitude in class. Sometimes, that was the only appreciation he got from them. Well-behaved. Point. His whole education – if not his whole life - in a nutshell. Calm and well-behaved. Like a portrait above the mantelpiece.

He remembered feeling pride at the adjective, and Amanda’s silent approval of his teacher’s review, but now he found that he disliked it more and more. A little voice growled its resentment on the whole situation and the spiteful hiss left Connor wondering if being well-behaved was a good thing after all.

“What about weekends?” Hank asked. “Will you spend them here or in New York?”

“I’ll go back to New York only next week for the contract and a phot-shoot. The opening night is in three months and only the musicians need to attends all rehearsal. I’m only singing three minutes in a one-hour piece in the end.”

“Plenty of time to ‘work’ with Markus then.”

Hank brushed quotation marks above his head in emphasis, and the comment was evidently followed by a playful wink – in case he wasn’t obvious enough about his innuendo. Connor wasn’t dumb enough to not understand. He knew what Hank meant; however, he was far too concerned about Amanda’s ultimatum to joke about anything at the moment. The stakes were far too high and his chances too low. He could feel her threat like a tangible weight above his head, and he could not process the feeling on his own. That is why he added in a tired whisper.

“There is so much work to do. It’s going to be hard.”

“Oh, I trust you it will.”

Hank’s amused smile was back at full force, and Connor fought the urge to roll his eyes at his persistence. Ok. Maybe it was his own fault for trying to be subtle about this.

“We’ll have to work hard on that,” he clarified, “because if Amanda can’t see any progress in my performance, she’ll replace my private ‘rhythm lessons’ with acting classes.”

Hank’s smile fell like a stone.

“Aw for god’s sake.” He swore angrily. “Does she ever leave you the fuck alone?”

“Rarely.”

‘Never’, was probably closer to the truth, but Hank was already fuming against Amanda and Connor didn’t feel like throwing gas on the fire. If he were to fuel the flames of Hank’s anger with more information, he knew very well that his friend would take arms and go to war against Amanda – to fight Connor’s battles once again. After everything he’d done for him, and all the times Connor had thrown Hank under the bus of Amanda’s wrath, this would be just as bad. No. He could not stand to have more blood on his hand nor could he stand the idea of Amanda’ sneering laugh and condescending remarks. He refused to hide behind Hank this time.

There was no need for a new fight anyway, he reasoned. Once his career would be on the right tracks thanks to Zlatko’s help, Amanda would certainly cut him some slacks – eventually. Connor only needed to hold on a little while longer, to be strong for a few more weeks – to push through one last time. 

“She’s doing what’s best for my career.” Connor said instead. 

“Bullshit.” Hank spat. “Being confident on stage isn’t something you can learn with a snap of your finger. You need new experience – lots of different experiences - to get you out of your comfort zone, and probably years to assimilate all of that. How does this bitch expect you to show any progress with only two hours per week?”

Connor only shrugged.

“I’m training at home too. I’m rehearsing every night in front of the mirror.”

He couldn’t help to cringe at how ridiculous his defence sounded to his own ears.

“Connor, be serious for a minute. You know very well that it’s not because you train in front of the mirror that you’ll be more confident on stage.

Connor could not find any objection to Hank’s statement. He was right. Of course, it wouldn’t help. But Amanda wasn’t going to give him any extra time. He had less than two weeks to avoid seeing his weekly sessions with Markus being replaced by some fucking acting lessons. He could try anything he wanted in the meantime. This was the only time she’d give him. And it wasn’t near enough, Connor knew it. Chances were, next week was probably going to be his last meeting with Markus.

The idea of not seeing Markus every Wednesday anymore was like a knife in the chest, but like any frustration, Connor would swallow his pain and keep walking. He had no other choice – not until the end of his contract with Amanda. 

“Ok that’s it.” Hank grumbled. “I’ll call her tonight.”

“No, Hank! Honestly, there’s no need.”

“Connor, trust me.”

“I do, but I can’t let you do this. Amanda will bite my head off for complaining to the first person available and-“

“Except I’m not some random stranger. I’m your private teacher.”

Hank gave him a pointed look, grey eyebrows raised in a silent challenge to contest his point. Connor remained silent. Of course, Hank wasn’t some random stranger, but it wasn’t the point.

“I’ll simply tell her that you came to me for advice on your current matter, and that I have several ideas to fix it, but it’s going to take more time – at least if we stay on a weekly basis for our private lessons. That way I could also advise on some extra sessions, with me, or other artists.”

Connor fell in the back of his chair as if he’d been hit in the chest. Air left his lungs in a strangled wheeze and Connor had to blink his confusion away. This wasn’t real. Hank couldn’t be real. No-one of this world could be so kind and selfless. And even if such a person were to ever exist, they wouldn’t waste their time playing guardian angel, and even less playing _his_ guardian angel. Hank was a fabrication of his own mind, a character from another dimension, someone Connor could only expect to disappear in the blink of an eye.

But then, why was Hank still there?

A friendly slap on the shoulder cleared the illusion away and Connor was left with only one conclusion: this was real. Hank was real, and he was once again trying to offer him more than he could ever wish for. Connor could not hold the dubious laugh that escaped his lips at the impact.

“I’m glad we could settle that.” Hank gave his shoulder one last squeeze before walking around the table. “Now come have some lunch.”

For once, the order brought a smile on his face and Connor naively hoped that all similar orders could bring by such a peaceful joy in his heart in the future. Now that Hank had put the subject to rest with a final nod, and now that that he’d explained his plan for battle, Connor felt his restlessness recede partially. His fears weren’t gone, but he could worry about them later. Right now, he was about to enjoy a simple lunch with his friend – a friend half of his brain was already calling family. The thought brought a tender smile on his face to which Hank replied in kind.

They unpacked their lunch in a companionable silence, the crunched tin foil sounds doing nothing to cover of Hank’s half-pornographic moans as he took the first bite of his hamburger. Connor did not comment on his unhealthy choice for lunch but Hank saw his disproving look and flipped him off anyway. They laughed quietly and, as he munched through his sandwich, Connor wondered if he’d ever felt so at peace in his life. He felt happy, and safe. Safe enough to let his guard down and safe enough to get his phone out and type a short message to the only missing person to this nearly perfect tableau. He missed Markus’ presence, and he couldn’t wait for next Wednesday so he could tell him all about his audition and Zlatko’s faith in him, and how he couldn’t believe fame was right ahead of him. 

Yes, right now, Connor couldn’t be happier.

“Now sit.”

Amanda did not even wait for him to shrug off his coat and his messenger bag before ordering him to join her in the living room. Connor sat down quietly in front of his manager, idly amazed at how his mood could go from one extreme to the other in less than a day.

“Apparently, Mr. Anderson has heard all about my battle plan regarding your stage confidence issue.” She peered down her nose with the most accusing look she could give. “Do I have to worry about adoption papers coming in the mail?”

Connor almost chocked at the question, suddenly terrified to see Amanda expose one of his most intimate wish with such disdain. Any argument he might have been able to use in his defence died in his throat and a high pitched ring was all his brain could compute. His lips parted on his aborted defence, few words slipping out before he could catch them.

“No. I- ”

“He told me that you’d stopped him in the corridor so that he could prepare a special session for this week – to help you with our current problem.”

“Oh.”

Connor closed his mouth before he could betray Hank’s lie. Really, for two musicians, they seemed to struggle with the concept of setting stories straight and tuning their lies so they could avoid dissonance.

“I don’t like your professor’s methods.” She grumbled. “But he did raise some valid points.”

Dear lord, this conversation was worse than a rollercoaster. While cold sweat was still cooling along his spine after his initial fright, Connor now had to squash down the wild flame of hope that was swelling in his chest. He kept quiet as he felt it grow stronger.

“He mentioned several activities that could indeed help you. Other ones completely absurd and perfectly improper.” She scoffed. “However, I do believe we should be able to agree on a list soon enough.” She pulled her phone out and scrolled through her agenda for a few seconds before announcing her great plan. “Until Mr. Anderson comes up with an updated list and until we can add all the extra activities in your schedule, your session with him will take place as usual this week.”

Relief swarm through his veins at Amanda’s announcement. He would see Markus this week. And he would see him without having to worry about Amanda’s impossible ultimatum. The idea was like a lungful of fresh air after weeks of confinement and the little flame of hope roared in his chest with so much force that Connor felt his face twitch with the urge to smile. He kept his expression as neutral as he could. He didn’t want Amanda to change her mind only to wipe out his goofy smile.

He didn’t need a repeat of his eighteenth birthday.

“That being said.” Amanda clasped her hand confidently. “Know that I’ll drop by during your private session this coming Wednesday.”

“I’m sorry - What?”

The question was out of his lips before he could think against it. Amanda frowned in confusion before sending him a reproachful look.

“I’ll be subcontracting part of your training to this man. I am more than entitled to meet him in person, am I not?”

“Yes, of course.”

Of course. He should have known Amanda would try and pull the rug from underneath his feet once again. While he was struggling to hide his disappointment with a blank face, a rebellious little voice was already looking for a way to work around Amanda’s new obstacle. He could lie about the place. He could tell her that his sessions with Hank were taking place at Jericho now. That way, he could still see Markus for a few seconds while pretending to be working with Hank. It was a tempting scenario, but the idea of seeing Amanda prowling in the safe haven of Jericho made his skin crawl. He had no idea when she would barge in, and chances were that she was going to walk in to find him and Markus in a compromising situation. His luck worked that way and he knew it. She’d walk in, find him chatting with the sexiest man alive and it would not take her more than a few seconds to make the connection between Markus and the previous texts she’d read before smashing his phone on the floor.

No. It was safer to set a real session with Hank at school, in one of the old rooms of the west wing. It was safer, but his heart still wept as his thumbs typed the bad news to Markus.

**[T^T]  
[But I was SO looking forward to congratulating you IRL!]**

**[I’m sorry]  
[Hank will be playing negotiator for our cause. Let’s hope he’ll get us a new slot for us to meet at Jericho. But for now, I have no clue when that will be.]**

**[Alright then. I’m saving the balloons and confetti for later]**

**[You really had confetti ready?]**

**[No. But it can be arranged :D]**  
**[That or a bottle of champagne, your choice.]**

His stomach gave a low rumble at the suggestion, reminding Connor that he’d promised to never drink alcohol ever again. Water. Nothing but water.

**[Maybe we should wait before getting any champagne]**

Seeing how his stomach growled dangerously, clearly not ready to forgive, the wait was probably going to last a few years. But Markus didn’t need to know that now.

 **[** **Duly noted. Confetti first]**  
**[We’ll save the champagne for when you’ll be performing in New York like a star ;) ]**

He could not agree. Just as he couldn’t refuse. He could only hope that, with any luck, Markus would eventually forget all about this promise. Eventually, Connor opted for a single emote, a smiley face in complete contradiction with his current expression. It felt wrong to use such a smiling emote when he suddenly felt like crying, but it was the last time he was lying to Markus in such ways. Promise.

He hit the send button with a strangled sigh.

**[ :D ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the last time, I swear *cough* *cough*
> 
> 2021/01/31:  
> I know Connor can't catch a break, but things will get better (*cough* eventually )
> 
> Thank you guys for the kudos and reviews! ❤  
> Take care!


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